Storm Star
by Split Infinitive
Summary: The brutal slaughter of the Kokiri Tribe prompts the Hero of Time to search out his oldest friend. But the Sorrow is coming, bringing with it despair. Is the Chosen One good enough to overcome the doubts within and the darkness without? Dark fantasy.
1. Chapter 1

**Storm Star**

A Legend of Zelda fanfiction.

Setting: Ocarina of Time. This story is not connected to any of my others. Also, it's not for the faint-hearted - you have been warned!

**Chapter 1**

Link stoked the fire of his rage with memories.

His eyes scanned the scene. A haze of smoke clung to the air and his throat itched something fierce with every slow breath. Burnt twigs snapped under his boot. Heat soaked through leather and kissed the soles of his feet. Link's eyes stopped.

There. The creek where they used to play. Saria would tease him because he'd be too afraid to wade in too deep. He'd just kick water at her, dodge her clumsy attempt at a tackle, then drag her in himself. He hadn't been afraid at all. She knew that. She laughed every time all the same.

How long had that memory been buried inside his mind? Twenty years? Twenty-five?

It no longer mattered. The creek was still now. A film of thick grey ash tarred its surface.

There. His old tree house. Navi's insistent buzzing had awoken him that day long ago. A meeting with the Great Deku Tree, she'd said, and she herself would be his fairy. The world had offered him infinite possibilities that day and his heart had been near to bursting with excitement.

The day when everything had changed. Irreversibly.

_Silly little boy._

A knot tightened in the middle of his chest. The house lay on its side now, half-buried in a mound of blackened cinders.

Link walked in a daze. Moving helped. It reminded him that he was still alive. Wisps of smoke hissed with his every step. He wondered what exactly he was breathing. The charred stench made his head spin and when he spat he saw that his saliva had turned gristly black.

He'd arrived far too late. Hours earlier, his disbelieving eyes had spied the flames smudging the skyline of Hyrule. Sat in his saddle he had run cold fingers through his hair as he watched clouds the colour of blood hovering over the forest. Marking the spot, he'd thought dimly. Driven, he'd pushed his horse into a fierce gallop.

The Lost Woods and Kokiri Village – nothing remained now except a charred, burnt-out husk. His old haunt. His tribe. Link still wore their colours, a tunic of the darkest forest green.

Small fires still smouldered here and there, dying flames flickering. Leaves had withered away on branches sagging heavy with ash. Where once there had been fairy dust floating on the currents of the wind, there now remained a shower of crimson embers. Debris burst underfoot with a wet pop.

_Don't get angry._

Link reckoned he should be feeling more than anger. It should have surprised him that he did not. Years and years of witnessed bloodshed had blunted any keen sense of horror that he'd once possessed. Years and years of carnage. He'd caused a fair bit of it himself.

The light in his heart. It was dying.

_Don't get angry._

The words were from the _Vor Shahal_, the Lost Tribe of the Sheikah. He had sought them out in his youth, travelled north and crossed sheets of ice that glinted so fiercely under the glare of the sun that you had to keep your head down to protect yourself from snow blindness.

He had sat at the feet of the Vor Shahal and he had learned. Learned about the true history of the world and how it had come to be, about the nature of reality, about secrets that could only be whispered into the deepest core of a ready and willing heart.

They'd welcomed him like a son and he had left them.

They hadn't been best pleased with that.

He knew this because they still hunted them to this day. But he also knew that the Lost were not responsible for this. They weren't this blunt.

_Don't get angry._

Link closed his eyes and let a slow breath whistle free from his lips. The rage deflated like a puncture wound to a waterskin. Emptiness replaced it. He felt weary. Hollow.

_Anger takes what it wants at the price of the soul._

The Lost wanted him dead, but he still paid heed to their words. Revenge was too base for the man known by a select few as the Hero of Time. Answers. Answers were what he needed here. Only answers would satisfy the dull ache that had slowly begun to gnaw away at the very centre of his being.

But first he had to bury the dead.

It took him a good few hours. Would have been a fair bit longer if not for the ranger skills he'd picked up from the Lost. There were many other things he'd learnt from them as well. The Vor Shahal had taught him that he lived upon a vast globe of which Hyrule was but a smudge, that each creed and culture of this globe had recorded in their most sacred texts that life was but a crucible, a testing ground not worthy of the heart's attachment, that what you did here would lead you either to the Jade Palaces of Bliss or to the cold depths of the Pit.

Link buried the scorched remains of his oldest friends and knew that whatever the Pit held it couldn't be far worse than this.

He'd learned two things in those long hours. First was the Gerudo arrow that he'd found lodged deep in a Kokiri chest. The whitewood shaft was now dyed red and it had broken easily in his grip. Chalky grit clung to the arrowhead. It was the striped feathers, though, that had given the game away to Link.

That the Gerudo would be responsible for this massacre was hardly surprising. The Long War had begun mere months after he'd defeated an entity known as Majora in the land of Termina. The Gerudo had flooded in from the desert in their long trailing silk cloaks and their cold iron masks, all grim-faced and silent. They had made no demands. Still hadn't. Not to this day.

Hylian cartographers had reckoned that the Gerudo desert marked the eastern most edge of the world. No one had actually had the stones to do go check, though – why would they? The mapmakers said that there was nothing there but sand, so why waste the time and coin to have a gander?

Their arrogance had been proven quickly wrong. Beyond the desert lay leagues upon leagues of land – farms, villages, cities. Peopled by a myriad races – even Hylians – and all under the heel of the Gerudo. Why the desert bandits were so interested in Hyrule was still a mystery.

And why'd they just razed the Kokiri to the ground was an even bigger one for the Hero of Time.

The second thing Link had learned was that there was one body missing. Painful hope had kindled in his heart and he'd searched and searched just to make sure but, no, it was clear – someone had escaped the slaughter. Someone he knew.

_Escaped? Or stolen?_

Link turned away. Dimly he wondered where the fairies had fled to. Maybe he'd come back one day and check. It wouldn't be soon.

Movement flickered from above and made Link look up. A wake of vultures circled overhead, voicing their displeasure at being robbed of their feed. Link's gaze turned eastward.

It was time to pay the Gerudo a little visit.

…

Starlight drizzled the air in Styer Geldman's bed chamber. A clock ticked, puncturing the silence with its rhythmic beats. The Gerudo Chief hardly ever visited his home here in the desert city of Wraith's End. He didn't have any need to. A senior member of the Gerudo army, he spent most of his time on the frontline, leading the charge into Hyrule. As such, he had left his modest little house unguarded.

That was his first mistake.

His second was his vanity. Instead of building for himself a functional dwelling suited to the security needs of a prominent general such as himself, he'd decided to please his own sense of aesthetics.

A towering marble fountain gurgled softly in the gardens outside, built in such a way that the water would always glisten under a full moon. It was designed to draw the eye. It did its job well. Passersby would always notice the fountain, not the cottage itself. It made breaking in all that simpler.

Ivy hung from the whitewashed outer walls of the gable roofed cottage. If you stood in one of the rooms and looked up you wouldn't see the usual flat ceiling, oh no. You'd see wooden beams holding up the pyramid slopes of the roof.

Link stood on one of those beams, statue like in his stillness, and gazed down at the bed chamber. He'd been waiting for hours. Information wasn't cheap in Wraith's End, but it was usually accurate. Heading into the city after his long trek, he had kept his head down and had covered half his face with a dusty rag. Hylians native to the Gerudo city were a familiar sight and, though there was little to tell them apart from Hyrule's Hylians, Link knew he couldn't be too careful. The Gerudo weren't the only ones to be wary off. The Lost were always waiting in the shadows.

Geldman had come home for a rare visit just as Link had discovered. He could hear the Gerudo Chief now as the man shuffled around the rest of the house, heard hot water sizzle into a tub – copper; Link had already searched the cottage earlier in the evening – and, finally, heard Geldman's footsteps as he approached the bed chamber.

Link crouched. A wooden beam creaked in protest, but held firm anyway. Bats wrapped in leathery wings hung from the highest reaches and gazed dolefully with scarlet eyes. There were two doors that led into the chamber; one at the rear and the second, just below, that opened now as Geldman, clad in a woollen gown, entered. Link's heart thudded softly in his chest.

The bed sagged as the Chief sat down. In one hand he held an oil encrusted lamp and in the other a heavy mask stylised in the image of a bull. Metal knocked wood as he set both items down onto a small bedside table. All the Gerudo wore masks, male and female. In another time, another place, there had only been one Gerudo male to a tribe of women. But that man was gone now. That whole world was gone.

Link still remembered it, though. As did a handful of others. The only person who should have remembered but didn't was Princess Zelda.

Link blinked away the thoughts. Now wasn't the time to be distracted.

Styer Geldman pulled himself onto a mattress filled with wool and laid his head back to rest. Link leapt from the beam, liquid smooth and graceful as a bird. Pulling his short bow free from his back, he rode the current of the air, and then landed in a soft crouch. The Gerudo Chief bolted upright but it was too late – Link already had a feathered arrow ready at the notch. He pulled the waxed string back with a creak.

"I ask the questions," said Link. "And you answer. Otherwise, I don't even want to hear you breathe. Understand?"

Starlight speckled Geldman's fear clad face. Link watched the man's throat, saw the adam's apple bob up and down. Fear was a good motivator.

The clock ticked.

"Who ordered the torching of the Kokiri village?"

Geldman was quick. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who ordered the torching?" Link's voice remained eerily calm. "And where is the Sage of Forest?"

"The what?" Styer moved, ever so slightly, his hand twitching towards the small table, but Link was quicker. He cracked a boot into the oak bed frame, watched as Geldman froze in panic from the sudden movement. No words were necessary, the message was clear: _Do not try my patience._

The Gerudo's lip curled. "What makes you think I know anything?"

Link tensed. Something wasn't right here. The Gerudo shouldn't still be fighting back. Had he been just an ordinary man beset with terror Geldman would have spilled his soul by now. But he was a Gerudo warrior. Either he'd answer Link's questions or he'd stay in defiant silence, waiting for the end.

Link's lacquered bow caught the burnt orange gleam of the Gerudo Chief's lamp. This time when Link spoke his voice had a sharp edge to it. "Answer me. Who gave the order?"

"What would you do if you found him, eh?" Geldman snarled. "Skin him alive and pour boiling oil over him? Haven't you heard? That's what other Hylian generals do to their prisoners of war. Rob a warrior of his very dignity." Thick emotion flooded into his voice. "I heard your people even watch and applaud."

Link didn't rise to the bait. Truth rang clear in the taunt but Link wasn't cowed. He wasn't a Hylian general. He was the Hero of Time. Closing his left eye, Link aimed the steel arrowhead directly at the Gerudo's head.

The Chief wasn't finished. "What if I were to tell you that the torching was necessary?"

Link blinked. He opened his mouth to reply, then froze as a triumphant flush fell over Geldman's face.

Ice pricked the back of Link's neck.

Bow still trained on the Gerudo Chief's head, Link shifted his weight slightly to catch a glimpse of whoever now held him by the point of a sword.

"Don't move another inch." A Gerudo woman's copper eyes pinned him with a level gaze. Link gazed back. High cheekbones, tanned skin and a thin face. She was young. Some dim recess of Link's brain acknowledged the simple fact of her serene beauty. Propriety demanded he now drop his gaze. Propriety had no place here.

"Lower the bow."

"No."

The Gerudo Chief hissed. "Just slay him now. I'm not important. Rid us of this pestilence."

The lines around the woman's eyes grew taut. "I said lower the bow."

"Deadlock," Link replied. Blood trickled past his collar and then down his back. "I lower the bow, I lose the advantage." His fingers trembled. He could feel the string bite into his skin.

"You can't keep holding the draw like that."

Leaden muscles in Link's arms nodded vigorously in agreement. They could give at any moment. The arrow would fly from the string, slam straight through the Chief's skull, through the soft membrane beneath, and then lodge itself in the far wall. That'd be a damn shame. He hated wasting arrows.

"Just watch me," he said.

A smile ghosted over the woman's lips. "It doesn't look like either of us have an advantage." Her voice had lost some of its chill. Link read her in that moment. A conclusion locked in his mind. The woman sniffed. "Negotiate, then."

"Don't be a fool," the Chief spat. "He's Hylian. He's not to be trusted."

Link's attention stayed with the woman. "And with whom am I negotiating?"

"My name is Vela. You, of course, are Link. Ranger, Hylian warrior and general all-around nuisance."

Another hiss flew from the bed. "You let him look upon you and now give him your name?"

Vela's eyes flicked to the Chief. "Shut up."

The Chief's eyes blazed in response. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He held his tongue.

Link loosened his grip. Just a tad, mind. He'd read Vela right. "What is it you want to tell me?"

Vela's eyebrow arched. "What makes you think I want to talk?"

"I'd be dead already if you didn't."

She smiled now. "Don't kill Geldman," she said. "Give me your word. Warrior to warrior."

"You have it."

The Chief slapped the bed in frustration. "His word is worthless!"

Vela ignored him. She lifted her sword. "And you have mine."

Link released the string. The arrow whispered through the air, metal point glinting. It slid through the empty space in the Gerudo Chief's right sleeve then cracked into the wall behind. Geldman's eyes bulged as he watched the feathered tail vibrate back to solidity. Realisation dawned. He was pinned. Oh, he probably knew that he could tear his sleeve off, or just slip out of his gown, but both actions would take too long. Link would be upon him in a heartbeat.

The Hero of Time lowered his bow then half-turned to regard the Gerudo woman. She had withdrawn her weapon first. That struck at something deep within Link's soul, something primal and vibrant. Chivalry wasn't dead just yet. The light still flickered in some people's hearts.

She knew it, too. They held each other's eyes for a moment. Something passed between them. Trust. The recognition of a kindred spirit.

"Speak."

Vela drew a breath. "I give you a warning," she said. "Your people have stories, legends of how the world came into being. We have our own, and they speak of the end, the manner in which all will fall into oblivion."

Link's ears pricked up. _Respect the old stories_, the Lost had taught him. _Respect them, even if others mock, because some of them are built on the bedrock of truth. _Realising that Vela was waiting for him to respond, he said, "I'm listening."

Relief flooded her face. "The Sorrow is coming, Link. It bleeds through the Great Void, a hole in the very world. We know the Void. We've seen it. I couldn't tell you where, though. It's always moving. Shifting from place to place. And always, _always,_ getting bigger."

Link heard the Chief muttering under his breath. Clearly Geldman hadn't been expecting this. Metal clinked as Link turned back to Vela. "Go on."

"All things must end and the Sorrow's only purpose is to end the world. It would come only twice. If thwarted the first time it would only return at the time when no living thing with a soul would be there to oppose it." Her breath had quickened, her eyes sparkling. Link could tell that she wanted to be rid of her burden and the words fell from her lips in a flurry. "This is the Sorrow's first approach. It can only be stopped by one thing. Our legends speak of the _Sturrmstaer_. What that is known only to a select few. I believe that your princess is one of them." She stopped to swallow. "Tell her. Tell your princess."

_I believe_, Vela had said, _not 'we'. _Link realised then that she was working on her own. He came to a quick decision.

"I'm free to go?" he asked.

Vela held out her palms. "I gave you my word."

"And I gave you mine," he replied. Lead filled his voice. "But I said nothing about taking hostages." Steel slid from the scabbard hanging at his waist. He pointed the sword at Geldman. The Gerudo snarled, fury contorting the muscles in his face. Link kept his face blank. "He's coming with me."

Link turned back to Vela. Understanding shone in her eyes. Understanding…and gratitude. If Link had left her alone with the Gerudo, then the Chief would have slain her for treachery.

She kept her face level. "It appears my hands are tied."

"I told you!" Geldman almost choked on his words. The bed rocked with each tug his scrabbling fingers gave the arrow. "I told you Hylians couldn't be trusted!"

Link bowed his head. "Sitti."

It was an old word. One used by a more chivalrous age. _My lady._

Vela's eyes shone. She knew it, too. Suddenly, as though she'd just made a snap decision, Vela leaned forward, her voice low. Link craned his neck to listen. "Information," she said. "About the Kokiri. About the Sage. Go to Tanner Drow's."

They each saw something new in the mirror of the other's eyes just then. Respect.

With a curt nod, Link slid away to bind his hostage. Respect was one thing, foolishness was another. Go to the princess. Go to Tanner Drow's. He wasn't going to do either. At least, not yet.

He had an old friend to drop in on first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Link was nothing if not patient. He kept to the shadows of Wraith's End, hidden in the narrow back streets where the lonely, the desperate and the mad made their home. No one looked at him. Most made a point of it. He, on the other hand, watched them all.

Traders, fishwives, smiths and maids bustled through the loud and busy thoroughfare that cut a path directly through the centre of the city. Exotic scents accompanied even more exotic tongues. Link had to give the desert dwellers some grudging respect – they'd built a truly representative society. You wouldn't see that in Hyrule. Everyone kept to their own tribes. It had been a devil of a task just to get them all to fight together in the Long War. Cost the princess half the public treasury.

Or so he'd heard.

He didn't doubt it. Link had made it his business to keep himself informed.

You could spot a Gerudo a mile away, even before the sun glinted off a stylised metal mask. Something in their gait, their raised chins and stiff backs that said plainly to everyone who'd look: _We are the masters here. _

But it wasn't the Gerudo that interested him today. Link liked to keep himself abreast of events related to the princess and she, in turn, tried to keep her eye on him as well.

And she wasn't the only one.

Link scanned the street again. A red-faced maid carried a steaming tub of water, ready for the day's laundry. Water sloshed over the side. A nobleman, Hylian, stepped into the resultant puddle, his eyes down, his fine silk cloak now leaving a wet trail through the dirty road. A woman with an elaborately painted face stepped on the cloak, put a finger to her lips to cut off the nobleman's protest, then leaned in close and whispered into his ear.

Link turned away. None of them had the tell-tale demeanour, that way of moving _just so_, that calm poise and bearing that marked them as one of the Sheikah. One of the Lost.

He glanced up, saw the white sun directly overhead. He'd been watching since dawn. No one from the Lost. No spies from the princess.

Adjusting the rag wrapped around the lower part of his face, he slipped easily into the street. Smoke from sizzling cook fires nearby wafted into his eyes. His nose twitched at the scent. Roast onions and charred dripping hunks of fish. A cold knife of hunger twisted in his gut. Link ignored it.

He blinked, stepped over a rotting mound of sludge that was either spoilt food or animal waste – the flies didn't seem to care either way – and then opened the door to a small shop. A bell jingled.

The young Hylian crouched behind the counter didn't look up. "Be with you in a mo."

Dust motes spiralled through the air. A vast curtain of keys of various shapes and sizes hung from the ceiling, each twisting at the end of its own personal wire. They gleamed gold under the sunlight that shafted in through the shop's solitary window. Still the young locksmith ignored him, busy as he was bustling with some wooden boxes on the floor.

Link glanced out through the window. Passersby passed by. No one had paid his entrance any attention.

There were no other customers. Link pulled the rag from his face then pushed the door closed with his heel. The young man glanced up, then froze. Slowly he stood, his face taut.

Link smiled. "Fine morning t'you."

"Morning's passed," the boy replied. His fingertips danced against each other. "And she's not here. Go away."

Link crossed the room in an instant. The young Hylian jumped at the swiftness of the motion. Keys went into a spiralling loop, striking each other with a dull chime. The dust motes parted in a swirl. Link reached the counter and his gloved hands came to rest on the pitted wood surface. He opened his mouth to speak.

The bell tinkled again. Looking past Link's shoulder, the boy instantly had a smile ready on his face. All business once again. Link pushed the rag back up. He waited.

While the young Hylian talked shop with the customer – overweight, thinning grey hair and a gaudy tunic too bright and intended to be worn by someone a lot less older; not someone either the Lost or the princess would recruit – Link turned his mind back to the message the Gerudo woman Vela had delivered.

It unnerved him. Not the content of her words, but the fact that she'd known that he'd be there that night. That was enough to put him on edge. As for the message itself…well, he'd filed it away in a corner of his mind. Dark prophecies were the meat and potatoes of the gossip hounds of Castleton. There was a new one every week and twice on eclipse nights.

He'd give this one its due. But only after he'd found his Saria. And his answers.

Which meant that he'd eventually have to pass the message onto the princess. His heart twisted at the very prospect. The princess treated him kindly enough, thought of him as a friend and respected his skill, but all that they'd shared in their battle against the King of Thieves had somehow, impossibly, leaked from her mind.

And she didn't trust him. Her spies were testament enough to that. Why should she? A decade into the Long War she'd asked him to lead her armies as its sole general. He'd turned it down. Struck out on his own as a ranger. The princess couldn't afford to have any rogue elements in her midst. He understood that.

The ringing of the bell broke into Link's thoughts. Again he waited. A beetle scuttled over the wood. He watched its shiny shell navigate its way toward him.

The patron now dealt with, the Hylian boy took his place behind the counter once more. He wiped his hands on his tunic and turned to regard Link. "You're wasting my time."

"Yes, I am," Link replied. He flicked the beetle away. "You're new, aren't you? Haven't seen you before. What's your name?"

The Hylian ignored him. He shook his head. Grey eyes flicked from the bow strapped to Link's back, then down to the sword dangling at his waist. "You'll scare the customers away."

Link glanced over his shoulder, took in the sight of the empty shop, then turned back to the boy. "I can see them bolting for the door before my very eyes."

Wonder of wonders, the young Hylian actually laughed. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he looked at Link in a new light. "My name's Adair."

"Morning, Adair. Or afternoon, like you said." He smiled. "I'm Link."

"I know," Adair said. "She told me you might show up one day. Described you right, too. Even down to the colour of your tunic. How'd she know you'd be wearing green is beyond-" It hit him just then. "Oh. You don't wear any other colour. Right."

Link drummed gloved fingers on the counter. Time to get to the meat of it. Clearing his throat, he looked Adair straight in the eye. "I request an audience with your mistress."

Adair laughed again. His easy manner was starting to seem forced. "I told you, she's not here."

Sapphire eyes grew cold. Link shook his head. "No, boy," he said. "You don't turn down a formal request. Those are the rules. She set them."

Adair swallowed, his lips pursed. "Let me close the shop then."

Link waited while the boy snapped rusted bolts shut and let down the deerskin drapes. Adair was young and could be forgiven for not knowing the Old Ways, not knowing all the subtle customs that anchored people to civilised life. Sadness still bruised his heart, though. How many others had forgotten? How long before the light flickered and died?

He thought about Vela, about how she'd impressed him, and the knot of his disquiet untied just a tad. She'd be safe now. If she was clever, she should have fled the city. Link had dumped the Gerudo Chief Geldman in a sewage creek outside of Wraith's End. He'd neglected to untie him first. That should have given Vela plenty of time to act.

Adair returned, plucked one of the dangling keys from the air, and then unlocked a door behind the counter. Unoiled hinges squealed as the door swung open revealing a narrow stairwell beyond. Adair glanced at Link. "Follow me."

The stairs protested noisily as the duo began their ascent, Adair leading the way. Link glanced up. "Say, do you know anything about a Tanner Drow's?"

The boy sniffed. "You'll be wanting to avoid that place. It's not a tannery for a start," he replied. "More like a hovel. It's not too far from here. Just off Old Temple Road. North from here, then right at the – oh. What's this?" Adair crouched, spying something lying on the step ahead –

Then slid free the knife strapped to his shin, bringing it around in a deadly arc aimed for Link's head. Eyes wide, Link's neck snapped backward out of harm's away. That was going to hurt in the morning.

Shifting his weight, Link dodged the boy's next lunge, then snaked out an arm and caught him by the wrist. They stood for a heartbeat, each straining against the other. Adair gasped as Link wrenched the limb. The knife clattered to the ground, bouncing down step by step. A sharp elbow to the gut brought the boy to his knees.

"Enough!"

Link looked up at the source of the voice. A tall Gerudo woman, regal in her poise, looked down at him through a half-mask carved of ivory and shaped in the image of an eagle.

"Nabooru," said Link. "Hello." He gestured at Adair with a nod. "Just breaking him in. He's new, you know."

"He's not new," Nabooru replied. "It's just that you haven't been here for, oh, what is it? Two years now? Three?" Dark eyes flashed. "Try not to damage the kid, will you?"

"Not at all," said Link. "You would not believe how happy I am." He held out his hand. Adair glared up at him, fingers rubbing his now swollen wrist. After a moment, he took Link's hand and allowed himself to be hauled up.

Link brushed dust off of the boy's shoulders. "So you do know the Old Ways. The Stranger's Trial. The way to welcome a new warrior to the hearth. I'm glad."

Adair's voice was withering. "I'm so happy you approve."

Nabooru's eyes flicked to the boy. "Open up the shop, kid. I'll keep our guest entertained."

Adair bowed his head. "Mistress." He turned to Link, a sour look in his eyes then, after a moment's consideration, gave him a short nod. He sniffed. "It was good sport. You're a worthy opponent."

The proper respect due to the victor. The Hylian _did _know the Old Ways. Link nodded in return, then climbed the rest of the stairs.

Nabooru had already entered her chambers. A Deku Pipe hung from her lips and grey halos of smoke began to puff slowly into the air. She gestured for Link to sit while she herself sank into a pile of scarlet cushions on the carpeted floor.

Link sat cross-legged, his equipment jangling with the motion. He spied some nuts lying on a brass plate nearby. Reminded of his hunger, his eyes narrowed, mind calculating. After a final moment of soul-searching, he scooped a handful of nuts into his mouth.

Nabooru raised an eyebrow. "Help yourself, why don't you."

Link smiled as the nuts crunched between his teeth. Seasoned practitioners of the Old Ways would have frowned on such impropriety. Abuse of hospitality it was. Poor manners from a guest. But a Vor Shahal phrase drifted into his mind: _There is no formality between friends._ And the Vor Shahal would know. After all, it was the Lost that had taught him all the Old Ways in the first place.

Nabooru waited until he'd finished. She gestured at a pewter jug sitting next to a cup nearby. "Water?"

Link sucked the salt from his lips. "Please."

As the Gerudo woman poured him his drink, Link pressed on. "Kokiri Village. It's gone."

"I heard." She glanced up. "I'm sorry."

Link swallowed down the sudden surge of grief. "Saria wasn't there." He let out a long breath. "I don't suppose you've heard any news?"

The Sage of Spirit shrugged. She handed him the cup. "I don't know any more than you, Link. It was a squadron from the Gerudo army – but who and why is beyond me."

"I've been told Tanner Drow's is the place I need to be." He sipped the drink, savoured the cool water trickling down his throat. "Any idea why?"

Nabooru smiled. "Straight to the point as usual. Same old Link. No 'how are you? What's been happening?'"

Link felt the heat rise to his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

Nabooru waved his apology away. She lifted the pipe from her lips, then let a stream of grey smoke billowing into the air. She glanced at him, just for a moment, then said, "There's someone at Drow's called Scavenger Red. He usually has his finger on the pulse and in many pies. He's probably the one who has some information."

Link knew that paranoia and suspicion were unhealthy, knew that were the realms of either a sick mind or a damaged one. The Old Ways were adamant on that. Who are you to try and pry into another person's mind, they said, and what makes you so certain that your assumptions are so absolute?

And yet the glance Nabooru had given him was just a little too lingering. This is what he hated about conversation in general. Sometimes it turned into a swordfight. Link decided to go for a thrust.

"Have you heard of the Sorrow?"

Her left eye flickered. Just for a fraction of a second. "What's that?" Nabooru replied. She lounged back on the cushions, her voice casual.

_Too casual?_

"What about the Sturrm Staer? You heard of that?"

A beat. "No." A broad smile spread over her face. She blew smoke in his direction. "Link, are you testing me?"

Link coughed as the smoke reached him. He waved it away impatiently.

She had seen straight through him. Heat prickled his cheeks once more. Best roll with it now. Knowing him, if he wasn't careful then he'd say something to make everything worse.

Link smiled back. "Ignore me. Everything's just gone to my head. The village. Saria. You know."

"I know." Her voice was soft. "I'd help you, but it probably wouldn't look too good. Me being a Gerudo and the Gerudo being responsible. You know that."

"I do."

"I'll keep an eye out."

So. Scavenger Red. It was a name. It gave his purpose a form. That's all he'd wanted from this meeting. He wondered if it would be fine for him to just up and leave now.

Probably not.

Twin jets of smoke puffed from Nabooru nose. The corners of her mouth drooped. "Poor Saria. She was complaining about you, you know. The last time I talked to the kid, that is. Said you hardly ever visit." Her smile was wry. "A common complaint, I've heard."

Link loved his friends, each and every one of them. He knew that. The warmth that flooded his heart when he thought of them was proof enough for that. He hoped they knew, too. He suspected so. And yet…he could only take them in small doses. It was all that…talking. He usually ran out of things to say very quickly, as though he could only draw from a parched and little-used well. Then the humiliation would creep up on him. He felt like he was on display, with everyone with their eyes on him.

_Why so quiet? _They'd always said, to which Link had always wanted to reply _why so loud?_ He knew their words were not meant to wound but he always found himself disquieted nonetheless. It was worse whenever the princess invited him to the castle. Everything was so practised, so stiff. If a simple conversation was swordplay to Link, then a social function at the castle was like a full on battle. One from which he barely ever escaped unscathed.

Nabooru was used to him, though and didn't take offence at his silence. "Have you told the princess?"

Link shrugged. "She probably already knows."

A smoke-tinged breath flew from between pursed lips. "Then go talk to her anyway."

"She's the princess. She's…distant."

Nabooru shook her head. "Oh, please. She's just like you and me, Link. Uses a chamber pot just like us commoners. Granted, hers probably smells of violets and is made out of gold, but anyway…"

Link laughed. He took another sip of water, then asked, "Why doesn't she remember?"

Nabooru flicked him a lazy glance. "Why do you keep asking questions that have no answer?"

Link rose to his feet. "I have to go."

The Sage of Spirit raised an eyebrow. "So soon?" She watched him for a moment. "You just wanted to know about Drow's?"

Link nodded. "I was told it was a lead. Just wanted to make sure."

Nabooru sucked on her pipe. She wasn't going to press him to stay. "Told by whom?"

Link turned to leave. "You said you'll keep an eye out. I'm holding you to that."

Nabooru smiled as she shook her head. "It must be hard, you know."

Link stopped, glanced over his shoulder. "What must?"

Her eyes met his. Something dark swam in hers. "To be surrounded by all your friends and still feel so lonely."

Link broke contact first. As he strode off once again he realised that he had no answer to that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tayer Blackwood took in a deep breath. The sickly sweet scent of the flowers clutched in his hand tickled his nose so much that he had to stop himself from sneezing. Indigo petals fluttered lightly in the early evening breeze. He grinned. Perfect. Malon was going to love these.

He strode through the streets of Lon Lon Town, a man very much with a purpose. His sealskin gloves were now peppered with yellow pollen and even a hasty wipe from his kerchief made little difference.

Tayer nodded at people he passed by, confident in the infectious nature of both his grin and his general happiness. Some of the townsfolk responded in kind. Others made their feelings clear both in the obscenity of their gestures and the general tone of their voice. It tended to be a growly tone, Tayer decided, heading south toward gruffness.

Not that he cared. It was the end of trade and people were in no mood for pleasantries. A blacksmith, son of a blacksmith, Tayer Blackwood would, in a week's time, find himself proud husband to a ranch girl, daughter of a ranch owner. Six months had passed since the flame-haired girl had brought in a horse to the modest Blackwood foundry. She'd been looking for new shoes to fit the mare, and she wanted them at a fair price, too.

Tayer had been captivated. Her gentle way with the horse, her soothing words, her obvious empathy with the animal. It didn't bother him one bit that her dress was caked in mud, slop and cucco droppings. When she'd turned to regard him with those big eyes of hers, he'd been smitten.

There'd been no fooling around with the price, either. At the very hint of a rip-off, she'd turned as fiery as the colour of her hair. Tayer did so admire a woman who knew her own mind.

And, yes, a _woman_ she certainly was - thirty years of woman - but he still couldn't help but think of her as a girl.

She'd been unimpressed with his courting at first. In truth, he tended to stumble over his words, and suspiciously seemed to lose all control of his balance in her very presence. He'd worn her down, though. Excuses to visit her ranch came quick and ready.

Her Da had loved him instantly. He'd even encouraged Tayer's awkward attempts to win Malon's hand. That was a first. Most fathers glowered at him, somehow managing to look down their noses at him even though he was taller than the average man.

"Don't know what's good for her, that girl," Talon had said. "Always got her head stuck in the past."

Tayer had nodded in mute awe. He had an inkling that Talon had smiled. He couldn't remember. His eyes were fixed to the ground, fascinated by a pair of red ants battling head-to-head over some cucco droppings.

Talon's words had worried Tayer a bit. In truth, there _did_ seem something holding Malon back. He may not be so big in the brains, but he knew what he knew. Perceptive was the word, that was it. Tayer saw something in Malon's eyes, something that haunted her, something hidden.

He knew better than to try and pry it from her. Instead he'd done his darn well best to find the path that would lead him to her heart. And, for a wonder, it had worked! One day, one amazingly wonderful day, the shadow had left Malon's eyes, as though she'd reached some sort of resolution. Or a decision, maybe. She'd smiled at him for the first time that day – all under the watchful gaze of her Da, of course – and then everything had dropped firmly into place. The courting. The proposal. The acceptance.

And now, of course, the blessing. In the most nerve-wracking experience of his life – well, apart from when simple words had turned to lead on his tongue the very day he'd asked Malon to marry him – Tayer had visited the castle earlier in the morning and had won himself an audience with Princess Zelda herself.

Pride made Tayer puff out his chest. His little Malon knew the princess of Hyrule! And she'd asked – nay, demanded – that Tayer march himself down to the castle and ask the princess' approval over their impending union.

Well, he wasn't going to disappoint her, was he? Cloth cap clutched in his sweaty hand, he'd shuffled into the princess' presence and had humbly made his request. He'd been practising the words all night. They had a touch of nobility to them, something that would warm the heart of royalty itself.

Unfortunately, when it had come to the day itself, his meek words had bounced around the vast chamber in a tiny echo. He'd had to spend a good five minutes just trying to clear his throat first. Blood had rushed to his face as he'd heard the courtiers snigger behind their hands. The guards had stared at him, stone-faced.

He hadn't looked at the princess, of course. He may be simple, but he wasn't stupid. Never in a thousand blue moons was he going to risk either his or Malon's future by daring to peek at the Princess of Destiny. He'd heard the warmth in her voice, though, heard the kindness and the joy that only came from shared happiness.

The princess had given her blessing freely. Tayer had felt an instant surge of love for his mistress and had had to sniffle away his tears. He couldn't remember much after that, but he thought he may have said 'thank you' at least a thousand and one times.

Now he couldn't wait to tell Malon. She'd promised to pay him a quick visit tonight. The stars were already beginning to pierce through twilight's scarlet curtain and the traders and townsfolk were busy packing away their wares in preparation for the night. Wooden crates scraped along the ground, mules brayed in protest to their heavy loads, and tired and ill-tempered voices snapped out quick orders. Giggling children ran from hanging lamp to hanging lamp, lighting the oil inside, their faces aglow from the newly birthed flames.

In the distance he spied the outline of Lon Lon Ranch itself and his heart skipped a beat. Anticipation made his mouth water.

Lowering his head, Tayer entered the family foundry. The stench of smelted metal hit his face. He was used to it, hadn't been bothered by it since he'd been five. The furnace was cooling now, the immense blackened grate hiding the dull crimson glow of dying embers within. He nodded at Da, who gave a gruff greeting in response, then received a peck on the cheek from Ma.

His sister, Shayla, looked at him with a wry smile. "Oh, look who's back," she cooed. Black grease glistened on her forehead. "Mister high n mighty 'imself." She glanced at the flowers. "Those for me? You shouldn't 'ave."

"Out with you," Tayer replied, grinning. He threw the pollen stained kerchief in her direction, but she dodged it expertly with a squeal. Somewhere in the room, the last of the workers banged a block of metal into shape.

"Leave him be, Shay," Ma said, her voice rising over the din. "Let him have his moment. It'll be your turn soon enough."

Shay rolled her eyes. "Not likely. I'm running away to join the army."

Ma silenced Shay with a glare. She then shooed Tayer into the quieter back rooms where their dwellings lay. She smiled at him. Something shone in her eyes – happiness? Pride? Tayer couldn't tell, but it made his heart glow nonetheless.

"Malon'll be here soon, son," she said, her voice soft. "You best get ready. I'll send her up to your room when she gets here." A wrinkled finger wagged. "Don't be getting no funny ideas, y'hear, coz I'll be there with her, too." She pried the flowers loose from his hand. "I'll take those. I know what to do with 'em. You're goin to strangle em, holding em like that."

Tayer laughed. "Thanks, Ma."

It didn't take him long to reach his bedchamber. Shutting the door closed behind him, he sank into a chair with a sigh. He unbuckled his belt – it carried only a dagger that Shay had given to him for his twentieth birthday – and he let it thunk to the floor. His feet ached. What a day!

He stretched his legs. Happiness spiked in his chest in time with every beat of his heart. His thoughts began to drift.

Tayer Blackwood wasn't stupid. He knew that all this would pass, knew that they'd fall into a routine, that life would be hard. But he intended to savour every moment, and very much wanted to enjoy both the rough and the smooth with Malon by his side.

Tayer smiled. It would be good. He knew it would.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The door! That was quick!

Tayer grinned. Clearly she was as eager as he was.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Impatient, too! Swinging himself out of his chair, Tayer Blackwood, blacksmith, son of a blacksmith, went to open his door.

…

To look upon the majestic beauty of Princess Zelda was not a feat worthy of mere mortals. Rumour had it that if a man even glanced in her general direction he would be rendered sterile instantly. Women whose misfortune it was to lay eyes on the princess didn't favour much better. A barren, childless existence would swiftly follow.

Princess Zelda knew all about these rumours, of course. She was the one who had started them, after all.

Wisdom demanded that she win the respect of her people through fair means or foul. 'Fair' was easy. Her love for her people and her compassionate hand were all enough to tie the knot of loyalty firmly in each and every Hylian heart that responded. Other people were a little harder to win over. For them, she deployed the hand of fear.

It worked. Most of the time, that is. She did get the occasional world-weary matriarch, trailed by a bevy of children, who flat-out stared at the princess in a desperate attempt to end any hope of any further offspring.

Those women would make the princess smile. Zelda, if she noticed them in her walks through Castleton, would call them over then give them a gift – grain, corn, livestock, sometimes even pure silver – that would fulfil all their material needs for the rest of their waning years.

Those women would then be willing to die for the princess.

She liked that the best. Not the self-sacrifice, of course. She loved that her wisdom be a ship that rode a fathomless ocean of pure mercy and generosity. It made it easier to live with herself after that.

Shadows swam in the darkened room. She had a lamp, but the gas within it was diminishing, the flame barely a flicker. It stood on a table, alongside an unfurled scroll, a quill with a feather bearing the scars of being chewed on one too many times, and a stained pot of dark ink.

Zelda stood at the window at gazed down the rocky slope of Death Mountain. A gift from the Goron head Darunia, the little wooden hut served as Zelda's refuge from the problems and politics of Castleton. It stood on one of the upper rings of the mountain, a simple structure consisting of her bedchamber, a privy that was - wonder of wonders – built indoors and not out, and a single passageway that led from her room to the main door.

On a plateau beneath the hut her guards waited. Moonlight silvered their steel armour. They faced away from the little house. Not that they feared accidently looking on her - they were above such silly superstitions – but she had ordered them to stand thus. This was her space, hers alone. No one was allowed to come up here to the hut, no one except in the direst of emergencies. Zelda was completely alone here. Alone, and contented.

She had to admit it. There was something about the stillness here, perhaps something in the air itself, that lent itself to contemplation and serenity. Both were commodities that were in short supply for a princess.

She spied the little village of Kakariko, watched as the sprinkle of lamplight mirrored the stars above. Her heart tightened. The people living there were relying on her. Everyone in Hyrule was. The mere thought of it, the sheer vast complexity of all those people with all their hopes, pain, happiness and fear was enough to make her feel quite lightheaded.

Princess of Destiny. Princess of Wisdom. She'd know what to do.

Darkness smudged her heart. Is that what the Kokiri thought, too? Was that what was flying through their mind as their blood boiled and their skin roasted?

_Stop it._

Zelda sighed. Impa always said that she let her thoughts run away with her. A heavy weariness rolled through her body.

_Old. I feel so old. _

Another silly thought. Her father, the king, he was the one truly old. Holed up in his chamber over at the castle, his eyes as white as eggs, his tongue a withered and useless piece of meat, no longer used or serving any use.

It was a slow death. Zelda, as crown regent, had been the effective ruler of Hyrule for over the past fifteen years. Her father hadn't stepped out of his chamber in any single one of them. She'd even stopped mourning, or at least that's what she told herself. The moment his soul left the world would be the moment that her heart would crumble. She knew that. Self-deception was hard for someone imbued with wisdom itself.

_Think happy thoughts, girl._

Malon. Malon was getting married.

Zelda smiled. And to a fine young man, too, even if he seemed a little unsteady in her presence. Zelda would host the wedding. That would be her gift. She couldn't wait to tell Malon. She'd deliver the message herself. Malon's face would light up, like it always did when she was pleasantly surprised. Zelda pictured the scene in her head and felt girlishly giddy at the joy she anticipated from it. Her smile became a grin.

Wisdom. It wasn't always that hard now, was it?

Wisdom sometimes made her do the oddest things, though. Zelda turned to regard the half-finished letter that lay on the table, the ink still shiny and wet. It was intended for the Gerudo Ambassador – a man simply known as Skellow – and was a firmly worded request demanding an explanation into why the Kokiri massacre had taken place.

Her moment of happiness fled as the memories of that slaughter returned. Everything was just so…senseless. At least she knew who was behind it. The Gerudo. And the ambassador had to know exactly who and why.

Zelda's allies would have balked at the fact that she so casually sent letters to the enemy. Neither Darunia of the Gorons or Princess Ruto of the Zora knew anything about it. It wasn't that she didn't trust them. They were both good people, both her friends. But it was _their_ respective people that posed the problem. The grief that _they'd_ caused all three heads of the alliance was untold. None of them had been willing to work with the other, so much did stubborn pride keep them from uniting against the Gerudo threat.

So, when a secret offer of parley had come to the princess from that very threat, she had taken it. A clandestine meeting with the ambassador had followed. He'd muttered some nonsense about 'our two great nations' and what a magnificent visionary she was, but that wasn't what had struck her at all.

The ambassador was in love with her. This wasn't so surprising in itself. Many men were. Or they thought they were. Usually it was just an image of her that they'd painted in their own heads. But Zelda had seized the chance here. She had hung the cloak of compassion at the door and had grasped wisdom with both hands. In short, she'd taken advantage of his feelings in order to ply him for information.

Wisdom could be ruthless like that sometimes.

"Aye," Impa had said, a twinkle in her eye. "Wisdom. Right. And it's not to do with you feeling a little attracted to him too, is it? You're not fooling me. Admit it, girl."

She would not. Handsome though the desert warrior may be, Zelda was not some snivelling shallow maid that would be so easily swayed. And, anyway, another thing poured pure acid on the roots of any possible feelings. A thing that shamed her to the core.

Hatred. Pure hatred.

Her people had suffered because of the Gerudo. Suffered immensely. She could never love them. Any of them.

The Long War had stolen her of her youth, and had stolen from her people things far more precious than that. Wave upon wave of Gerudo attacks had been repulsed. Pride surged through her heart so fiercely that it almost burst. The alliance had stood firm. Unity _had _happened. The three of them – Darunia, Ruto and herself – had made it happen. Hyrule had not yet fallen.

Her desire to keep her people safe was only overcome by her burning need to know _why_ – why were the Gerudo so hell-bent on grinding Hyrule to the ground? And now she needed to know what the poor, innocent Kokiri had done to deserve such a harsh reprisal.

She still didn't have the answer to either. Skellow was the key, though, a tool to be used then discarded. Wisdom demanded it. Zelda wasn't like the ranger Link. He cultivated friendships on both sides of the conflict. Oh, she knew that, if pressed, he'd be on her side, but he seemed quite content to just wander through life, helping out here and there, yet never quite committing himself to her cause.

It vexed her. Yet, she let him be. There was something about him that she found…

Zelda pursed her lips. Sometimes she just had no words that could properly articulate her thoughts. It didn't matter anyway.

With a laboured sigh, she turned away from the window, ready to funnel her attention back onto the letter. She pulled the chair free from the desk –

And then stopped. Her eyes narrowed. What was that? A faint…noise? She cocked her head to one side.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Zelda froze. Every single muscle and nerve in her entire body seized in one long moment. A tingle trickled down her spine. Had she just imagined…?

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Dread clutched her heart. Her mouth went dry.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The door. The noise was coming from the door. _Her_ door. To the bedchamber.

Impossible. There was no one in this house but her. Even if her guards had wanted to contact her they would wait outside the house first, not come in and knock on the door of her chamber.

Her mind raced. She reached under the bed with a shaky hand. Her fingers touched metal and, with a tug, she pulled. Steel whispered as the hidden sword came free. Standing, she stared at the door. Ice ran in her veins.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Who's there?"

Silence answered.

Zelda crept forward, the wooden boards under her feet creaking with each motion. The sound of her breathing rang in her ears. Loud, far too loud. Her heart pumped with a rhythmic thud.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Zelda swallowed the copper taste from her mouth. Her free hand curled around the cold brass handle of the door. She waited. One heartbeat. Two. Three.

With a yank she pulled open the door.

Darkness met her.

She looked left, then right. The passageway was empty.

A whisper of a thought, sudden and alien, flitted through her head.

_The Sorrow._

It fell over her like a cloak. A dam burst in the centre of her soul. Unimaginable grief flooded the absence, cloying and suffocating. Zelda felt her breath quicken, felt her heart thunder like an immense drum. She was drowning; her heart was drowning in an ocean of utter, utter sadness. Her mind unravelled like a thread. Tears ran down her face, unbidden. She felt her very essence begin to dissolve, vanish in the face of something incredibly heavy, raw and dark.

Pain. Such unbearable pain.

The thread snapped. Zelda's eyes refocused. She gulped in a large lungful of fresh sweet, cold air. Her dress clung to her skin. Her sword arm…

Zelda's eyes widened.

Somehow, in her trance, she had managed to turn the sword against herself. Its tip now rested against her chest. Her heart throbbed against the cold metal.

Horrified, Zelda let the sword clatter from her hand. Saliva dried in her mouth once again. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as her head and hand came to rest against the wood. What manner of darkness had invaded her mind like that? What toxin had it released?

Zelda slid to the ground, her palm leaving a slick wet trail in its wake. She hugged herself tightly.

In the morning she'd search for answers. Yes, in the morning. Now, though, she was content to just lie there, rocking slightly from side-to-side. This night was hers and she wasn't going to move from this spot.

Not move one inch.

…

It was Malon who found him.

Lifting the hem of her skirt, she had trotted up the stairs the very moment Ma Blackwood had said 'yes' to Malon's shy request to go see Tayer. Shayla had given her a playful nudge on the shoulder as she'd passed her, barely hearing Ma's promise that she'd be up there in a jiffy, so no fooling around, hear?

Malon had stopped when she'd reached the landing. The door to Tayer's bedchamber was open, but that wasn't what had given her pause. There was something in the air, something…wrong. She couldn't quite place what, though. The princess would know. Zelda was good at that sort of thing.

Softly, she had called Tayer's name. Once, twice, thrice. When no response had come, Malon had gingerly nudged open his door.

Her scream had brought the rest of the family stomping up the stairs in a frenzied panic.

Tayer Blackwood lay in a congealing pool of his own blood. His eyes stared sightlessly into the air. The skewed hilt of his dagger thrust out from his chest.

He had plunged it into his heart with his own two hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The door splintered open with a dull crack. Woodchips crunched under Link's boots as he strode purposefully into the fletcher's small work room. The stench of sawdust flooded his nose.

This was where Link was in his element. The situation under his control, his actions a solid foil for his words, this was where he never had any of those…awkward…problems. His heart soared with quiet satisfaction.

A Gerudo man, alone, cowered behind a wooden desk. In fact, wood permeated the entire room. Pine, spruce, cedar, oak, maple. In his younger days, the Gerudo had been a carpenter by trade and every item in the small room proudly bore that mark. Now he dealt solely in arrows.

The very same arrows that had dealt out death at Kokiri Village.

Link gazed down at the fletcher, eyes impassive. He flexed his fingers, heard the leather of his gloves creak. The Gerudo flinched.

Link let time pass. A second. Two.

Enough time for the fletcher's fear to rise to fever pitch.

The cringing man made no attempt to fight back. Clearly he recognised the dangerous presence that Link carried so easily.

Perfect.

"Mag Stoke," said Link at last. "Ten days ago you sold a shipment of red-dyed whitewood arrows to a specific squadron of the Gerudo army." Link took a step forward. Stoke whimpered, the hawk mask that he wore now lying askew across his tanned face. "I need to know the name of that troop."

Link made his request so softly that Mag Stoke was caught off-guard for a moment. Link could almost see the thoughts whirring to life behind the Gerudo's eyes. Perhaps, the man was thinking, this intruder could be reasoned with. Perhaps there would be no pain, after all.

Link liked it better that way. If the man was still thinking, then his mind wouldn't be too paralysed by fright.

He stepped up the pressure. "The name of the troop. _Now._"

The whip of Link's words cracked the Gerudo to life. "How am I supposed to remember that?" Anger warred with fear in the fletcher's voice. "I sell many arrows. To many squadrons. Every day."

"You'll remember this one," Link replied. "These arrows had a little extra kick to them. Moonstone. Ground into the head. Specially designed, I'd say. Wouldn't you?"

Mag Stoke wasn't very well-versed in hiding his feelings. Eyes wide, the sudden recognition dilating his pupils – he was as easy to read as a child's scroll.

Link pressed on. "Records. I know you keep them. You must have a record of this transaction." He let one finger come to rest on the pommel of his sword. "Find it."

The Gerudo swallowed, noting the gesture, then nodded. He scrabbled ungracefully to his feet and brushed himself down. Weak sunlight trickling in through a small window dappled his face. He paused. A single glance flew to a drawer set in his desk.

Link sighed. "And don't bother going for whatever weapon you've got hidden in there. You wouldn't make it in time."

Link watched as Stoke's every muscle clenched in perfect unison. Glowering, the fletcher gave Link another short nod, then dragged himself over to a cherrywood cabinet set on the far side of the room. Drawers rumbled open, and the man began to rummage inside.

Though he didn't show it, relief sang in Link's heart. Information was one thing, but being led by the nose like a young mare was quite another. Vela had given him the place: Tanner Drow's. Nabooru had given him the name: Scavenger Red. And yet Link still didn't feel satisfied.

He hated being dependent on others. Self-reliance formed part of a ranger's credo. Or so he'd heard.

He'd decided to be awkward. Whatever people wanted to him to do, he wouldn't. At least, not until he was good and ready. Since leaving Nabooru and the locksmith's, Link had pondered and pondered until, finally, a stray memory had pricked his mind. Something at the corner of his consciousness. Something overlooked.

It was the arrow. The Gerudo arrow that he'd discovered at the village. It had had some sort of white grit clinging to the metal head. He hadn't even really acknowledged it at the time, but now he'd realised exactly what it was.

Moonstone. That rare substance of milky white chalk that hunters in Hyrule had known for its single, mysterious and most potent ability.

It could kill a ReDead.

Why and how, nobody knew. Gerudo arrows didn't usually contain any. ReDeads were rare in their part of the world. Yet, whichever Gerudo had gone to Kokiri Village had made sure that the arrows that they had taken had been laced with the rare waxen rock. Why?

It had taken Link a little longer to glean the information he'd needed. Again, he'd found the place: Lodger's Alley, where the building he now stood in resided. And then the name: Mag Stoke. Whispers in the back streets spoke of how Stoke, a fletcher by trade, had brought in a cargo of moonstone only two weeks hence. Stoke couldn't afford such a prize. Ergo, someone had commissioned it for him to utilise.

Now all Link had to do was find out who that 'someone' was.

Mag Stoke shuffled back to him, a fresh scroll in his hand. "Just the one name. This is who placed the order."

Link took the scroll and unfurled it. He read the name.

Frost fell on Link's heart. He felt his fingers go numb.

Link looked up. Stoke stepped back, startled by the sudden change in the Hylian's demeanour.

"Who came here before me?" Link growled. The scroll crumpled in his newly formed fist. "_Who_?"

"What? No one!" Stoke's fingers twisted the front of his tunic. His eyes darted from side to side. A sudden dark patch blossomed down the side of one trouser leg. "Please. Don't kill me."

"Someone was here." Link felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Someone planted this. Was it the Lost? Was it? What did the Vor Shahal promise you?"

"The who?" The sharp stink of urine clung to the air. Stoke began to stumble backwards, his limbs trembling. "_No. _Look. No one was here! I promise!"

"Then who put this name here?"

"I did!" His voice had travelled up a pitch. "I mean, that's the name! The real one! _That is the name!_"

Link's throat felt tight and raw. Stoke's fear was real. There was no way that this was an act.

Link unclenched his fist and glanced down at the scroll once more. His heart thudded.

He read the name again.

_Nabooru._

…

Tanner Drow's. It stank to the sky of smoke, tobacco and sweat. An old dilapidated inn with rotten wooden boards and crumbling stonework, it made its home in a dimly lit run-down corner of Wraith's End. Link found that he spent quite a lot of time in such areas. At least, that's where he ended up every time he found himself in a town or city. Tools of the trade, he supposed. To find the darkest shrubs of information he had to lift up the dirtiest and most moss-ridden of rocks.

Something resembling a griffin had been carved out of marble and greeted any new patron at the door of the inn. A welcoming beacon of sorts, perhaps. Dribbling urine stains marked each and every angle. It was missing a head.

Link looked at it, locked it away in his memory, then stepped into the inn's main room. Laughter, conversation and the scrape of a knife against a plate filled the air. Nothing unusual in that, then. He gave the room a quick scan. Most of the clientele were Hylian. Not surprising. Hylians were the lowest paid members of Wraith's End. They had to find someplace cheap and cheerful to spend during the long dark nights. Well, cheap anyway.

And nothing, Link decided after sweeping his gaze once more, unusual in any of the patrons either. He decided to relax a little which, for him, meant that his muscles dropped from 'coiled and alert' to 'coiled and on guard.' It was almost pleasant.

He moved further into the room, dodging tables, patrons and maids alike. At the far end he spied a woman – presumably the inn wife- nudging someone nearby and pointing in his direction, her lips muttering in a whisper. This was no place for a warrior's stance, Link realised. He would have to be casual.

A bellow from his left made Link's ears prick up. He turned, a sudden movement, and his hip caught a platter of drinks resting on one of the stained pine tables. It clattered to the ground, glass shattering. The wooden floor darkened instantly as it soaked up the liquid.

A servitor nearby threw up his arms. "Oh, you useless git!"

Link took a step back. "I –"

"Out the way!" The man's eyes bulged as he shoved Link from his path. "That's more on my plate. As if I didn't have enough to do tonight." His voiced curdled. "Thanks! Thanks a lot!"

Link felt the heat of two dozen stares. A vein throbbed in his temple. He slid into a chair set at a nearby table and seethed.

The conversation began again, swirling around his ears. Drama over, the patrons had already forgotten about the whole incident.

Link's tongue felt as dry as paper and as solid as lead. Typical.

On the battlefield he was fine. A sudden change in circumstances and his reflexes would swiftly counter. In situations like _this_, though – well, that's where his tongue would tie itself into knots, where words, as usual, wouldn't come when they should. He should've said something back to the man, should've had some witty riposte or some sharp defence. Or should've even said 'sorry'. He didn't.

He couldn't.

Instead, Link felt his heart chafe. He hated the rudeness, the unforgiving nature. No one had any of the Old Ways left in them. His fingers flexed once, twice, then clenched into fists. Link could beat the smugness out of the man. Look at him now. His expression said it all: 'I'm better than you, you oaf, I don't make clumsy mistakes.'

_Don't get angry._

Link closed his eyes and let his fury deflate. He wasn't any better. Holding other people to his high standards just meant that he, Link, secretly thought that _he_ was better than _them. _And that was just as bad as being uncouth and intolerant himself.

_Uncouth and intolerant. Of course, that doesn't ever apply to _**you**, _does it? You who just petrified a Gerudo fletcher out of his wits for doing nothing more than ply his trade. _

Link let a long breath free from between pursed lips. What else could he have done, though? Ask the man nicely?

He drummed his fingers on the table. It was set in a corner, and Link could see the maids and servitors dart in and out of the back room nearby. The angry man had set to work on the debris, grumbling as he brushed away the remains. Link thought about waving – no hard feelings and all that – but decided against aggravating the man.

_How gracious of you. What kind of man are you? Really, what kind?_

He tried to push all the sour thoughts out of his head. Mostly, he succeeded. The slight sadness still lingered, as it usually did whenever he found himself in such spots. He could have sworn that his last few thoughts had taken on the tone and timbre of Princess Zelda's voice. Now _that _was frightening.

Link leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was uneven, three of its legs out of synch with the remaining one, and rocked slightly as it held his weight. Link let the background murmur of the inn wash over him before he opened his eyes once more.

A shadow fell over the table. Link glanced up. The portly frame of the inn wife gazed down at him, her hands busy cleaning a glass with a rag. She carried the faint scent of paprika and clove. Link waited for her to speak.

The inn wife nodded toward the servitor. "Don't mind old Kope there," she said. "Never has a good word for anybody, that one. Should see him moan when my Jack pays him his weekly coin. Don't know why we keep him on." She sniffed. "So, what'll it be, Hylian boy?"

"Water." Link decided not to mince his words. "And Scavenger Red. Heard he's a regular here."

The inn wife kept her face blank. "Well, then," she said slowly after a lengthy pause. "That's more than what my menu offers, if you know what I mean."

Link stared.

The inn wife gazed back, cool as you like.

Link blinked.

The inn wife raised an eyebrow.

It clicked.

"Oh," he said, reaching for a rabbitskin pouch hanging from his belt. He placed his palm over two crimson rupees, set them on the table, then slid them across to the inn wife. "Here."

She sniffed at them, looking distinctly unimpressed. It took her just a moment to take them, though, the twin scarlet gems swallowed up instantly by her immense apron.

"And that'll be another five rupees for the water. Best in Wraith's End it is. Filled with all that mineral goodness the healers down at Crove Avenue are always banging on about. Did wonders for me and Jack. For after hours, if you catch my meaning."

This was why Link hated talking. All that effort for all those words. He kept his patience, hoping that the inn wife would notice.

She did.

"So," she began, sniffing again. Cutlery scraped in the background. "Scavenger Red, eh? Well, I –"

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

They both glanced up.

Scowling, the inn wife looked over at the back room. "Jessie!" she bellowed. "Could you get that, girl? Probably just Jero. Locked himself out the back door again, no doubt." Shaking her head, she turned back to Link. "Daft old sod."

"Just leave him out there, Bess," one of the patrons said. A regular, no doubt. "One night out in the cold will do him wonders. Might lose a few fingers to frostbite, but I bet he won't forget his key again."

The inn wife grinned, revealing a row of blackened and cracked teeth. "Oh, you are a nasty one, Jol."

Link remained a picture of utter serenity. "Scavenger Red?"

"Hold your horses, I heard you already. Truth is, haven't seen him in here for months," she said. She tapped her lips in theatrical thought. "In fact, I think he's dead."

Link frowned. "That can't be right. My friend –"

"- was wrong." The firmness in her voice brooked no possibility of contradiction. "Trust me. Six months gone. Nasty accident. Lost his head. Quite literally. "

"You're sure about this?"

Jol piped in. "Aye. I was the one who found him. Bad business. Bad all around."

Thoughts whirled around Link's head as the inn wife nodded. Troubling thoughts. He overlooked the fact that the woman had just fleeced him for forty rupees.

So. Twice in one day. Nabooru's full name on the scroll and now Nabooru's information proven suspect. Why had she sent him here? She must have known that the man was dead.

Was it too much to hope that the old inn wife was lying?

_And she's got all her customers to conspire with her, has she?_

Link sighed. He opened his mouth to speak – then found the words dying on his tongue. A familiar face had just stepped into the inn. The mask that she wore barely covered her eyes, but Link had recognised her anyway. And she, him. She stared right at him.

Vela.

"Will that be all, young sir?"

"Yes. Thank you." Link waved the inn wife away, distracted. His eyes were fixed on the Gerudo woman. No one else looked at her. Apparently it wasn't all that unusual for a Gerudo to turn up at a mainly Hylian inn. "In fact, forget the water."

"Alright. As you say."

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The inn wife rolled her eyes. "Tsk. Just can't get the help nowadays. I'll be off, then. Sort that out."

Link left his seat. "You do that." He watched the woman scuttle off into the back room before making his way over to Vela. She stood still, waiting.

"You came," she said.

"You sent me here," he replied. "To meet you…?"

"I could hardly announce my intentions in front of Geldman, now could I?"

"How did you know that I'd be here this night?"

Vela smiled. She clutched his sleeve. "Later," she whispered. "For now, come with me. I have something important to show you."

Link held his ground. Pulling free from her grasp, he folded his arms across his chest. "And I should trust you, why?"

A light laugh left the Gerudo woman's lips. "You _do_ trust me." She cocked her head to one side, as though measuring him with her eyes. "Sometimes you just have to stop this-" She tapped her head "-and listen to this." Her hand fell to her heart.

"You sound like a friend of mine." He thought on this a moment, then added, "Actually you sound like most of my friends."

"That bad?"

Link nodded. All this time and he hadn't realised. He'd been surrounded by a veritable troop of seers.

She laughed and pulled on his sleeve once more. "Come _on._"

_Well, why not?_

Link gestured to the door. "Lead the way."

She obliged, which was good. If Link kept her ahead of him, then he'd be ready for any attack that she might spring.

They didn't speak. Vela kept her head down and her cloak wrapped tightly. Link kept his eyes sharp. It looked like they were heading out of the city. They had already reached the perimeter gate when the first screams rang out in Tanner Drow's.

By then, Link and Vela were too far away to hear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The full moon rode the night sky, a pearl ship on a sea of clouds. Vela and Link walked under its light, silence their constant companion.

"You don't like talking, do you?"

"Um," Link offered. He blinked. He hadn't realised that conversation had been expected from him. He'd probably missed the signs. As usual.

Her words did sting, though.

Vela softened them with a smile. They were trekking through an oasis now, thick with date palms and olive trees, soft sand squelching underfoot. Every now and again, tiny glowing eyes would stop to stare at them, twitching, before scampering off into the dark. Lizards, maybe. Or a sand rat.

A desert owl hooted softly. The turrets and towers of Wraith's End, draped in silver moonlight, still loomed in sight to the south.

Link smiled inwardly. Two warriors on a hike. This was life. Even their equipment sang with metallic joy with their each and every step.

Link felt absurdly happy. Maybe it was the presence of this Gerudo woman. Not likely, though. The proximity of other people rarely filled him joy.

Maybe it was the fact that events were moving forward now. A silly sensation, he knew. Saria still lost, Nabooru's actions a mystery – he should be feeling anything but happy.

_It happens, though, doesn't it? You're just going about your daily business and – bang! – you suddenly feel a random sense of peace and serenity. _

Link smiled, basking in the feeling. If he wasn't careful, he might even start skipping.

_The Breath of Mercy, the Vor Shahal called it. If you could capture it, it was worth more than gold._

"Is it far?" Link said at last, belatedly dodging Vela's question. Sap clung to his gloves as he pushed date palm branches out of his path. Despite the moonlight, Link was surprised she could see so far ahead. "Where is it that we're going?"

"Not far," she replied. This time it was Vela's turn to duck the question.

Link didn't let it bother him. So. What had he said to himself before? Oh, yes…People told him what to do. He did the opposite. Except now, of course.

Consistency wasn't his strong point.

_Is it anybody's?_

Link glanced up at the trees. He reached for a bunch of dates, golden tan in colour, and popped some into his mouth. Sweet juices tingled his tongue as the soft but firm flesh crunched between his teeth.

Vela glanced at him. "It's customary to share, you know." Link, stung again, opened his mouth, but she waved away his hurried apology. A playful note entered her voice. "Can I scare you?"

Link arched an eyebrow. "You can try."

"I've watched you, you know. Watched you for a while."

Link felt a little startled by that. Unnerved. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

She'd been right. 'Scare' was a tad strong, maybe, but there you go.

He wouldn't show it, though.

"You wouldn't be the first," he said at last. Link felt his sense of well-being begin to slip away. "Others are probably watching me even now."

Copper eyes dancing with amusement glanced back at him. "You're that important?"

Link offered a weak smile. "Or that dangerous."

Vela turned away. "Same difference." She paused for a moment. Chin raised, her head darted this way and that. Another moment passed. Link waited; he knew a tracker when he saw one. Finally something in her muscles relaxed and she pointed east.

Link followed. He wiggled his toes. He felt sand there. Not good.

"I've watched you," Vela went on. "The way you try to live your life. Admirable. I respect that."

Try. He noticed that.

"Maybe," she continued. "It'd be a little easier if you just went to live in the desert." Moonlight revealed a wry smile. "If you just became a Gerudo."

Link ducked another branch. Spiky leaves shivered as a warm breeze kissed them. "You can't just 'become' a Gerudo."

"No?" she said, and left it at that.

Link cleared his throat. "Easier in the desert?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

Vela smiled. "No people for one thing. They tend to get in the way, don't you think?"

He did, but he knew she was being flippant while he most certainly wasn't.

She laughed. "You _do_ think that, Link. You always have."

"How would you know that?"

"So," she said, ignoring him. "The desert."

Something about her manner picked at Link's mind like a stray memory that you couldn't quite ever catch. Something obvious, that stared you in the face and mocked you for your dull-wittedness.

He was beginning to hate mysteries.

"Go on," Link said. "The desert."

"The desert. All alone. Just the sand under your feet and the sky – oh, the sky- stretched over your head. Ever seen the night sky in the middle of the desert? All those stars? It's like you're a speck of dust standing under the eye of infinity. Easy to follow the noble path then." Vela made a sharp turn. "If you live in the world, you have to play by the world's rules. Even your princess knows that."

An alarm rung in Link's head like the massive clanging bells newly housed in the Temple of Time. The 'noble path.' The Lost used that term for their teachings, too.

_Coincidence?_

Link thought back to their first encounter. "The noble path," he repeated. "You live like that, too. Try to."

"I learned it all from you."

Irritation made Link begin to tire of the conversation. "How long have you been watching me?"

"All your life."

He stopped short. "Who _are_ you?"

"Look!" His question forgotten, Vela pointed at a nearby clearing that had just opened out in front of them. Her eyes wide, when she spoke next a hushed awe had overcome her voice. "Look."

He felt it before he saw it. An oppressive silence, almost physical in form. It weighed heavy on his soul, slowed his movements, as though he waded through thick tar. His throat tightened and a sharp pain jabbed at his heart.

Leaves hung shrivelled on lifeless trees. Nothing stirred, not even a faint breeze. Link felt his boots snap fallen branches, but not a single sound reached his ears. The heat of the desert had vanished, sucked out with everything vibrant, colourful and alive.

Dead.

No. More than that.

Everything had been…stripped of its very essence.

Link swallowed, struggling to find his voice. "What happened here?"

Vela stood at a distance, hands clasped. "They stopped living."

Link glanced at her. He thought that, at that moment, she looked very much like a little girl desperately wanting to be accepted.

Or protected.

He felt his heart warm to her.

"Something killed the trees?" he asked. "What?"

"No." Her voice hushed, Vela bowed her head. "They chose to stop."

"That's not possible," Link replied. He forced moisture back into his mouth. "A tree can't do that."

Vela looked up, eyes defiant. "It _is_ possible. With the Sorrow it is possible. When the Sorrow whispers into a person's mind, misery follows. Unendurable misery." She shuddered. "Despair so strong that a mind is tricked. Tricked into thinking that death is the only escape." She swallowed. "You sink into the grave by your very own hand."

Link's eyes narrowed. He felt something curdle in his heart. A hard resistance in his soul. "A coward's excuse," he said. "No warrior would-"

"_You don't know!_" The words flew from her lips like arrows. Their eyes locked. Vela's chest heaved, then after a moment her eyes softened. "Don't be so quick to judge, Link. The Sorrow is the end of all things. This is one of its ways."

Link watched her for a heartbeat. "But these are trees," he said. He deliberately kept his voice soft. "Trees don't feel sadness."

Vela shrugged. "Whatever the Sorrow does to them – does to all living things – the result is the same."

Link reached a gloved hand up to one of the palm leaves. It sagged under his touch. Whatever had visited this place, he could still sense its lingering presence.

Or absence, to be more precise.

He tried to smile. "_Now _you're making me feel scared."

"You should be," Vela replied, her face serious. "Your sword hand," she said. "Move it to the left."

Link glanced at her, a question in his frown. She nodded in encouragement. "Move it."

He did so.

His hand vanished.

Link's jaw dropped open, a sudden rush of fear ramming into his mind. His thoughts scattered in a whirl. Ice replaced his missing limb. Solid, unbreakable ice. It began to spread, creeping up his arm, consuming him -

Link yanked his hand free with a moan.

_There. It's still there!_

Falling to his knees, he clutched it at it with his other, pressing the fingers, savouring the reassuring feeling of muscle, sinew and bone. Eyes wide, he glanced up at the Gerudo.

"The hole," she said simply. "The hole in the world." She nodded at the space. "The Great Void. It won't stay there long. It keeps moving, you see."

Slowly, his breathing finding its rhythm once more, Link rose to his feet.

"What does it look like?" he asked. "The Sorrow."

"There's nothing to see," Vela replied. "Just whispers. And feelings."

She folded her arms, hugged herself tight. Dimly Link was again aware of how girlish it made her. Gone now was the cool headed warrior he'd first met at the Gerudo Chief's house. A scared young woman remained.

There was something else, too. Something…familiar.

Link flexed the fingers of his sword hand while Vela waited. He sighed.

Something clicked in the deepest recess of his soul.

A decision made.

"If I can't see it," Link said, his eyes drawing level with hers. "How do you expect me to fight it?"

Link almost smiled at the rush of relief that washed over her face. Had she not truly been a warrior, she probably would have been jumping for joy.

Encouraged, she stepped forward. "I told you. The Sturrmstaer. _Storm Star._ You must help us find it, Link. You must. Please say you will." Raw emotion made her eyes glisten. "Help me."

Link felt his heart reach for her.

Puzzling. Why? What was it about this girl…?

"I have to find my friend."

"Find the Storm Star and you'll find her."

Quick answer.

A little too quick.

Link narrowed his eyes. "What makes you so certain?"

Vela merely shrugged in response. Hardly encouraging. He decided to take a different approach. "Last time you told me to go to the princess."

"We'll go together," Vela replied, excited again. "She'll know what to do. She always does."

_Always does? How would you know?_

Link kept the query to himself. He smiled. "A Gerudo in Princess Zelda's court?" he said. "We really are at world's end."

Vela smiled back. "Needs must."

Link gestured at the dead trees. "You said that this was one of the Sorrow's ways. What are the others?"

He saw it. Darkness flashed in her eyes. It didn't last long. An ordinary person wouldn't have noticed, especially not under the cloak of night.

Link wasn't ordinary.

"There's only one other way." The words came slowly now, her voice faltering. For some reason, she couldn't meet his eyes. "The Sorrow…it infects one person. Drives them mad. We saw it once - just a few months ago - on a farm near Spiker's Rock." She ran a nervous hand through her hair. "The Sorrow took a young farmhand. He spread it to his parents just by touching them. He had six sisters. He killed them all. It's a disease. Herald of the Sorrow we call it."

"The boy and his parents…?"

"We had to kill them. Our arrows were specially made for the job."

Silence expanded between them. Thoughts dropped into place in Link's head like molten lead.

"Kokiri Village." He felt horror rise in reaction to his sudden realisation. "One of the Kokiri –

"- became a Herald, yes." She had her chin up. She knew what was coming. Link did, too.

His eyes blazed. "You were there?"

"It was too late for them." A jagged edge cut through her soft voice. "We had to, Link. We burned the village to make sure nothing of the Sorrow could -"

"_You were there?"_

She stopped. Waited.

Link felt his hands clench and unclench. A spark ignited in his heart. "You witnessed the slaughter?"

Vela nodded, just the once.

Link felt the moorings tear from his life. Hot blood pumped in his chest. Cast adrift, his thoughts and emotions churned to a fever pitch.

_Idiot. And to think you were feeling compassion for her._

His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. "I could cut you down right now."

Vela stared back, silent and defiant yet again.

Link's jaw twitched. "You could have told me."

For a wonder, her eyes began to water.

Madness. What did _she_ have to grieve over?

Vela pushed her mask up. She spread her palms outward in a gesture of peace. "Help me."

Link turned and strode from the clearing.

…

Vela watched him go, heart heavy. She longed to tell him. Ached for it.

But what would he think of her if she did?

She had stayed outside the clearing – Vela wasn't sure if it would set her off or not – and now the shimmering desert heat wafted over to her. The soles of her feet burned as her boots sank into the hot sand. It was always hot in Gerudo Desert. Even after nightfall. Vela knew that.

Vela.

She hadn't always been Vela, Gerudo Warrior, no. She had another name. Another life.

A whole other body.

Strange that. Not many people could make that boast, if boast it truly was. She remembered her old self. Happy and bubbly, she'd been.

Happy. Now there's something.

Vela kicked at the sand, then began to move away. She could still see Link in the distance. She'd follow him, of course. It's what she did. He'd come round. He'd have to.

Her hand fell to the heavy crystal that hung from her hip. A dull cracked ruby, unremarkable in itself. It had been a gift. A gift from Nabooru.

With it, Vela had been able to leave her ancestral home. With it, she'd been able to take on a new form, a new name. A new life.

Perhaps it was out of a sense of gratitude that she had chosen to become a Gerudo. Or perhaps it was morbid curiosity. The Gerudo were, after all, at war with her people and their allies. She'd blended into the desert people seamlessly. Maybe a little too easily, she knew. She didn't care. Their ways were hers now.

Most of all, she had used her new found freedom to keep track of Link. She'd tried, but she'd been quite unable to let him go. Her old people had teased over it. She didn't know why, but she somehow had a way of honing in on his presence, of always knowing where he was. It kept her awake at night sometimes. The dangers he walked into, the scars he bore, physical and mental.

Perhaps the knowledge was a consequence of the magic the ruby held.

Or perhaps it was something deeper.

She'd watched him grow, watched him train with the Vor Shahal, watched him first plant the seed of the Old Ways, then nurture that light so that it would blossom within his heart.

She'd found the same light. The same nobility. The Gerudo had appreciated it.

Well, most of them. They weren't all that bad. But then, she knew who and what the Gerudo were now. She was one of them. Their battle was hers. Their purpose, hers.

The Vor Shahal were another matter entirely. They either hadn't noticed her spying on Link – _unlikely_ – or had allowed her to do so. Tolerated her, more like.

Sometimes she even went back home. When she did, she left Vela behind and became her old self once more, body and soul. She made a point to be there whenever Link made one of his rare visits. She couldn't tell him. Nabooru had forbidden it. She hadn't known why at the time.

She did now.

The deception tore at her heart.

Vela had been home very recently. She'd wanted to say goodbye one last time to her old people, her old friends.

The Sorrow had had other plans.

Vela whimpered as the memories rushed back. Digging her heels in, she steadied herself quickly. Trembling hands rose to her eyes. She imagined that she saw blood on them. She blinked. The blood vanished, but the memories remained like a dark stain.

The Sorrow had taken her, made her do unspeakable, horrible things. With the last strands of her sanity she had reached for the crystal and had become Vela once again. That's when she'd called for the Gerudo. That's when her old life, already terminal, had finally ended.

Vela felt her heart break.

She saw Link's diminishing form through blurry eyes. She trotted after him at a safe distance. Fear and hope bubbled in her heart. She couldn't lose him now, not after all this.

A spring of frothing water sat at the centre of this oasis. He'd go there, to think. She knew him knew he wouldn't take it out on her. He'd also know that there had been no other way to deal with the Kokiri.

_You live in the world, you play by the world's rules._

He'd help her. Not for her sake, but because he wouldn't let the Sorrow spread. Not now.

Vela's mind flitted back to her old home. She could never go return. She could never become her old self ever again. She was Vela forever now.

The realisation hit her in a rush. A torrent of grief rained down upon her heart.

Vela. What a lie that was.

Once, in a world long ago, she had been known as Saria, Sage of Forest. Now, if she ever returned, she would be Saria, Herald of the Sorrow.

Her knees buckled.

"Help me."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: ** Sorry for the delay. Parts of this chapter were stolen from…er, _inspired_ by one of Nendil's stories.

**Chapter 6**

Her city.

The most beautiful in the world.

Princess Zelda gazed down from her vantage point high in one of Hyrule Castle's slender towers and watched Castleton live, breathe and _be. _

It had been small once, this little market town that squatted at the foot of her ancestral home, but it was small no longer. It now stretched over the moat that had once marked its outermost limit, and spilled out into Hyrule Field. Marble, mud and paved stones now swallowed up all that green grass, and a new city wall hemmed in the seething throng of life. Twenty feet tall, punctuated by four immense gatehouses marking the main points of the compass, the wall was designed to kindle fear in the heart of an invader and reverent awe in that of a new visitor.

Zelda always liked imagining being the latter.

You enter via Kingsgate to the north. Guardsmen with eyes as hard and sharp as their pointed helms would observe as you hurry down the marble tunnel that brings you into Castleton proper. Zelda had handpicked those guards. They had the poise and presence of men whose eerie serenity cloaked a capacity for violence that could erupt at the slightest hint of trouble. Her people knew that they were protected. Newcomers knew that they were watched.

Love and fear, the twin swords by which she ruled.

When you come out of the tunnel, your head starts to spin from the sheer sensory assault. Sunlight inks the entire city in gold and the beauty of it steals away your heart. Shouts, murmurs and laughter carry on the breeze. Goats butt horns, hooves clatter on the cobbled streets, and fragile looking carts trundle about on their daily business.

If this is the first time you've been outside your little town or village, then you're probably in an enraptured daze by now.

Your eyes catch sight first of the gargantuan bridge spanning the moat now in the centre of the city, a series of huge wooden arches teeming with carts, horses and townsfolk. Then, your gaze is drawn up, up, up – your eyes may squint here as pure sunlight strikes them – past the rose tinted windows, past the intricate masonry laced with words in a long dead language, and finally up to the spires that mark the highest point of the Temple of Time, that ancient structure that looms over the entire city. It's only dwarfed by Zelda's castle itself.

And that's far from all.

The stench of dried fish battling with spicy perfume; the softly spoken maid, basket cradled under one arm as her other hand shields her eyes from the sun, struggling to make herself heard over the bellow of the fat market trader; the swish of long silk skirts that marked you as either a woman of high class or a common whore, depending entirely on how you painted your face. Dozens of tall, whitewashed houses for the rich stand sentinel over the thousands of small wooden huts for the poor. Smoke trails lazily from a hotchpotch thatch of myriad chimneys. Sparkling jewels change hands under the glimmer and gleam of the goldsmiths' markets in the south, while in the east intoxicating, illegal spices surreptitiously dance from pocket to pocket. Dull, empty eyes watch the transactions. They belong to the severed heads of traitors and criminals perched atop a line skewed pikes.

And still Zelda's guest was not impressed.

He wouldn't be, curse his pride and the pride of his entire race. All the cities of his land were far superior.

Or so he said.

They had buildings that made the soul soar in transcendent wonder. They had free flowing water – even in that hot, hot land- pouring into the conduits of every family home. Wide, clean streets, with unbroken paving. The scent of jasmine and honey in the air. They even had something he called a 'sewage system.'

She scarcely believed any of it. He made it sound like the Jade Palaces of Bliss. No place in the world could match the grandeur and beauty of Castleton. She was sure of it.

Sometimes, on days when worries and thoughts besieged her mind, she would stand at a window all day and just watch the life of the city drift by. She'd done so the day Malon, dressed in mourning black, had come seeking sanctuary.

Poor, poor Malon. Zelda had hugged her tight as her friend's tears had flowed. A spill of words had fallen from the farmgirl's lips, words coated with grief, with the shattering of hopes and dreams. It broke Zelda's heart just to think of it. Malon had a chamber in the castle now. She slept a lot lately, a temporary balm for her soul.

Zelda turned away from the window to regard the small room. Four guards – two were his; two hers – a small table, and two chairs. The Gerudo ambassador, Skellow, sat in one of them. His guards flanked him on either side. Her guards waited beside the empty chair. Outside the door on the far side, she knew Impa stood waiting. Probably stewing in mild disapproval, too.

Impa had been the one that allowed Skellow and his retinue - heavily cloaked and undercover of the darkness just before dawn - entry into the castle that day. Nothing unusual in itself- Zelda had, after all, been the one to invite him. Impa just hadn't liked it. Zelda smiled inwardly at the memory of her old friend.

Skellow didn't wear a mask, as was the custom of his people. Zelda had never asked him why. Thin, silver chains threaded into his tunic sang a faint, tinkling tune as he greeted her attention with a warm smile. He gestured at the table.

"Your move, I believe," he said.

Zelda slid into the chair opposite, then, with brow furrowed, she studied the wooden board in front of her.

Chess.

A Gerudo game.

He'd been the one who had taught her how to play. She felt she was quite proficient at it now, if she did say so herself.

Her hand hovered over a rook. Skellow shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. The princess smiled inwardly. One didn't become wise without becoming observant first. With a twitch of her lips that may have become a smirk had it lingered, she let fingers come to rest on the cool wooden carving of a knight, then made her move.

"Check." Her voice seemed to echo in the small chamber.

Skellow sat back in his chair and let out a deep sigh. He rubbed at his temples, then glanced at her face. "You have much on your mind," he said.

Zelda's eyes rose to his. "How can you tell?"

He gestured absently with his hand. "The lines on your brow. They tell me a lot. You worry. I wish you wouldn't. Those lines diminish your beauty."

Zelda ignored this. She knew well his infatuation with her. She relied on it, in fact. He was her only source for Gerudo information.

"It's true, I admit," she said at last. "Something is troubling me. Something you may be able to help with."

Skellow moved his king out of danger. "Hence the reason for this meeting?" He coughed. "Your move, princess."

Her eyes dropped to the board. "Yes," Zelda replied. She pushed a pawn up one square, leaving it exposed to capture but allowing her queen to move out into open play. A sacrifice she was willing to make. "Precisely."

"Well," the ambassador replied, "in that case, I have something to confess myself." He pushed his own queen out in a blocking manoeuvre that Zelda hadn't expected. "I have something on my mind, too. Something that you will _definitely_ be able to help me with."

Zelda felt her insides clench. The hint in the Gerudo's deep voice was unmistakeable.

"Go on," she said, moving her queen to a position midway up the board. It still defended the king, but was ready to make an attack if necessary.

Skellow cleared his throat. "It's almost embarrassing to say, really." He ran a hand through the dark tangle of his hair. "Let me ask you," he continued, moving his queen into a dangerous position. "Do you know what a princess is for? Their purpose, I mean. In general."

Lead turned to mercury in the pit of Zelda's stomach. She moved another pawn. "Do tell."

"Let me just say I mean no offence in saying this." He cleared his throat noisily once again. "But a princess – well, what is she really? Currency. Barter for treaties. All over the world, whenever there's a pact between great nations, it's sealed with a princess. A happy wedding and years of peace follow." His queen captured her pawn. "Check."

She moved another pawn instantly, blocking his queen. "I don't think I quite care for the direction of this conversation, sir."

His queen retreated. "Quite right." He tugged at his collar in a nervous, self-conscious gesture. "Ignore me, highness. I was merely thinking out loud."

Eyes narrowed, Zelda pursed her lips. "Thinking out loud."

"Yes. We've reached that stage in our friendship, have we not? We can say what we please now, with no fear of offence?"

Zelda moved a knight. "We can." She glanced at the board. Her move had been too hasty. She'd made a mistake.

"Then let me say merely this," Skellow replied. He pushed his queen out in a different direction – yet another attack. "You're not getting any younger, princess. A flower cannot say in bloom all its life. In fact, it could be said that you've never really had a youth at all."

That stung. It was true. She'd been so young when she took over the mantle of power. So very young…

"An offer," the Gerudo went on. "This is what I'm placing on the table. A former proposal to request-"

Her hand clutched a rook angrily. She swept it across the board, capturing his queen. "Why did your people kill the Kokiri?"

Skellow started, as though he'd been slapped. "Highness, this is not the proper-"

"No fear of offence, isn't that what you said?" Her eyes bore into his face for a heartbeat before she turned away. "Your move."

A blank expression hardened on the Gerudo's face. "My people's secrets are not mine to divulge." He shifted his king. It was a defensive move. Timid. "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

Her eyes returned to his. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm. "Something is happening to my people. Something…terrible," Zelda said. "Twenty of my folk have been found dead in the past week. Slaughtered."

"By whom…?"

"Well, that's just it." Zelda swallowed. "The killing blow…it was self-inflicted."

Silence.

A chair scraped the floor.

A throat cleared in a noisy manner.

"Highness, suicide – as rare as it is – is certainly –"

"I felt it."

Skellow's voice faltered. "What?"

"I felt it," the princess repeated. "The…presence…the darkness that drove my folk to this act. I felt it. I knew – _know_ - its name. " In an almost idle gesture, she pushed her queen into a new position – one designed to deliver the killing blow. "The Sorrow."

If the name struck at any recognition in the Gerudo's heart, he hid it well. Deftly, Skellow moved his rook in front of his king. A defensive motion, sure, but one that also opened up an attacking channel as well.

"I don't think I can help you, highness," he said. "I am, of course, sad to hear of your loss."

Zelda arched an eyebrow. The old hatred burned her heart like acid. A Gerudo sad for the loss of a Hylian…?

_You jest, surely?_

Skellow, either ignoring her reaction or just not noticing it, went on. "I can ask our soothsayers and sages, though. This is their area of expertise, I believe. Or one of our doctors. It may just be a plague of the mind." He smiled. "Our sages are quite precise, you know. Their prophecies are quite colourful. I heard one just as I left for Castleton."

The princess opened her mouth to speak. The thread of the conversation was slipping away from her, and she was far too canny to assume that it wasn't deliberate.

"The Chosen One."

Zelda blinked, her jaws snapping shut at the Gerudo's words.

Skellow cleared his throat yet again. "That was the prophecy. The Chosen One of the Vor Shahal, the Lost Tribe of the Sheikah. The Chosen One is coming." He glanced down at the board. "Your move."

Zelda flicked at a pawn. "You can hear those types of prophecy in every back alley warlock and witch's coven in Castleton. In times of darkness, in times of war, hope is worth more than gold. That's all those 'chosen one' prophecies are. Hope."

The Gerudo flexed his fingers. His knuckles cracked. "This one was very specific, however," he said, his voice measured. "I was told – foretold – that this particular Chosen One would be the very one who ended my life." A weak smile flitted across his lips. "You're right. At any other time, I would have dismissed such nonsense. But now I think you can appreciate my sudden interest in the subject."

Zelda leaned back in her chair, the chess game forgotten. "The Vor Shahal," she said. "What are they, exactly? I've not heard of them."

Skellow steepled his fingers. "No, not many have," he replied with a sigh. "Not many have." He scratched his chin. "There is, however, someone who may know."

"Who?"

"I believe you know him," the Gerudo replied. His eyes locked onto hers. "He goes by the name of Link."

Zelda felt her cheek twitch. "Link? The ranger?"

"The very same."

"And what would he know about the Vor Shahal?"

Skellow's eyes now narrowed. "I'll show you," he whispered. "_Now._"

They moved so fast that Zelda didn't even realise what had happened until it was all over. Her head snapped from side to side. The two Gerudo guards now stood over the two Hylian guards – the only difference were the swords now nestling in her guardsmen's chest.

Zelda's chair clattered to the ground as she flew to her feet. "What is the meaning of this?" Her eyes flew to the far door. "_Impa!_"

Skellow stood calmly and turned to the door himself. It crept open with a slow creak.

Zelda's heart turned ice cold.

Impa hung from the door, fastened to the oak by a sword through her neck. Blood trickled down her tunic, and began to pool on the ground below. In the passageway beyond stood a group of Hylians, armed to the teeth, but dressed in the common cloth of a castle scullion.

Skellow licked his lips. "Mercenaries." A cold smile flashed over his lips. "You'd be amazed how cheap they are. I could buy…oh, let's say a dozen? Two dozen? A hundred?" His smile curled into a smirk. "I don't know…let's just say: Enough to take over a castle from within?"

Throat tight and heart breaking, Princess Zelda still stood her ground. "You fool," she spat. Hot blood pumped in her veins. "Take over the castle? As soon as my allies now what's happened, they'll bear down on you with the whole weight of their combined armies."

The Gerudo smiled. "So wise, but so little imagination." His voice softened. "You should have taken my offer. I would have made you so happy." His voice hitched on the last word. Sorrow clouded his face.

It just made Zelda hate him all the more.

"And the war?" Skellow said, regaining his composure. "Oh, the war. The stupid, stupid war. It would have been over. One marriage. One treaty."

"I'd rather die than be touched by you."

Skellow crossed over to her in a matter of a few strides. His hand flew up, caught her chin. Her defiant stare only made him smile. "And at the wedding, Link would have been there," he said, voice low. "And that's when I would have slain him. You see…_he's _the Chosen One of the Vor Shahal."

Skellow released her, then stepped away.

Zelda rubbed her chin. She couldn't think. Numbness clouded her mind. Her eyes kept flying to the corpse of her friend, and the sight of it drove a stake of pure ice through her heart. Her lips moved on their own volition. "Link? Chosen…?"

"I'll kill him before he kills me," Skellow replied. All his desire and sorrow had vanished, dissolved under the weight of something stronger.

Fear.

"I don't want the castle, highness," he continued. "I know, even with my mercenaries, that I wouldn't be able to hold it. What I also know is that once I let the word out – and it'll be discreet, let me tell you. Enough so I get my man, and your Gorons and Zora are none the wiser – Once the word is out, he'll come. Link will come to rescue the princess, because that's what he does best. It won't take more than a few days. People won't even be aware of your absence. Then I'll leave you be. You had your chance. I offered you the olive branch. But you just wouldn't take it, would you?"

Zelda watched as the grief and sorrow flooded back into his voice once more. "You child," she said. "You're just a stupid, scared child."

Skellow's eyes blazed. His fists clenched and unclenched. His gaze broke as the table caught his eye. He looked down, grasped at one of his rooks, then let it swoop down the chess board. A grin laced with a sneer hung from the Gerudo's face as he looked back up at the princess.

"Checkmate, my dear," he said. "Checkmate."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

A meaty pair of palms slammed down on Link's desk. Eyes wide, Link watched his little wooden ink pot jump from the impact, teeter dangerously as it leant to one side, then with just an almost imperceptible pause where time and space seemed to hang frozen, it surrendered and tipped over. A brilliant wash of blue spilled into every notch, split and scratch of the wooden desk top.

Link glanced up to meet a grinning Hylian face.

_Don't get angry._

"Well?" the thug growled. Known locally as Steeple, probably because of his immense height, the big man glanced back at a group of his friends – all three of them - who were watching the scene unfold with barely disguised mirth. He winked, then turned back to Link. "Is it ready?"

As usual, Link's tongue failed him. "Well, I-"

"I _said,_ is it ready?"

"I – I'm just finishing –"

"You don't seem to understand. I need those documents. _Yesterday. _They're going to make me very rich."

"It's almost-"

"So a 'yes', then?" Steeple, as seemed to be the par for his variety of garden scum, chewed on a non-existent piece of cud. "My thanks, sweet thing. I'll just be waiting over there." He patted Link on his cheek, then turned away to greet his friends. They exploded in a chorus of titters.

Link saw the Stal Jenkins, the proprietor of _Ye Little Olde Scroll Shoppe_, glowering at him from one corner of the petite store. Closing his eyes, the Hero of Time wondered again what exactly he was doing here.

The answer was obvious: money. He and Vela had decided on a cold and uneasy truce. She wasn't going to reveal to him the exact nature of the massacre at Kokiri Village, but she _was_ going to help him find Saria and stop the Sorrow. Her reticence burned at his heart, but Link, despite his solitary nature, knew all about the practicalities of an alliance. Even ones with people you didn't quite trust.

The Sorrow was something he didn't quite fancy facing alone, and wherever Saria was it probably had something to do with the Gerudo. Vela, then, was useful in both regards.

If he'd been of the type that clung onto grudges, he'd probably still be seething at both Nabooru and Vela right now. He wasn't, though. At least that's how he liked to think of himself, anyway. Grudges wouldn't stop the Sorrow. They wouldn't help Saria.

Thinking of his old friend made Link's heart blister even more. Was she hurt? Afraid?

_Alive?_

Chasing the shadows that dwelt down that path would lead to madness, so Link let it go. As much as he could, anyway.

So.

Practicalities.

Money was one of them. As a ranger, Link had, in the past, managed to farm out his talents for a few rupees here and there. He never stayed too long, of course, only long enough to pay his way for a month or three at a time. He preferred it that way. Who would want to be chained to just the one trade and occupation for the entirety of their lives? The precious hours of the day eaten up, numb exhaustion their evening companion – another way that led to madness.

It wasn't just hunting and tracking that Link could do, though. The Vor Shahal had granted him the gift of the pen – and he was good at it, too. Fast. He could copy a small scroll in the tenth of time it would take any other man.

That little nugget of information had been a Gerudo symphony to Vela's ears. She'd managed to scrounge out employment for him here in this little village that sat on the Gerudo-Hylian border. Apparently he'd be better hidden this way. She'd even gave him a pair of eyeglasses to make him 'fit in.' Link half suspected that she was playing a joke on him. What Vela herself was going to do to find coin was something he hadn't been privy to, except with the proviso that she'd see him again in a week or two.

That had been twenty days ago.

So here he was. Stuck, all alone, copying scrolls for the village's resident Deku Nut.

"Hello."

Link opened his eyes and a warm shining vision from Jade Palaces of Bliss themselves greeted him.

_No. Not all alone at all._

Mya was a fellow Scrollcopier, a slender strip of a girl with golden curls and wide, round eyes. Link felt a flutter at the pit of his stomach and clamped down on it hard. No point opening _that_ door.

She just reminded him of Zelda, that was all. Not just in the way she looked, no. She was like the Zelda that he'd known and left behind in other time and place, the Zelda that had struck him with not just her wisdom and a bravery that he felt far surpassed his own, but with her simple kindness, too.

But that Zelda was gone. Or, at least, her memories of their brief time together had.

He missed her, wished he could just cast a magic spell that would bring her back.

He wished he could just bring himself to talk to her.

Link cleared his throat and blinked away his thoughts. He hurriedly averted his gaze as Mya slid into a chair beside his desk. She laughed at that, a warm gentle sound, so much did his sense of propriety amuse her.

"Are they bothering you again?" she said. "Steeple and his boys?"

"Forget about me," Link replied. "Are they bothering _you_?"

As Mya shook her head, Link found himself remembering their first meeting. She'd noticed him from the off, from the very first day he'd started working for Jenkins. The first few days she'd just stolen shy glances at him, and that had made him feel quite uncomfortable. She was so young, after all, barely an adolescent. Fifteen, was it? Or sixteen?

If he'd had Zelda's wisdom he would have known how to handle Mya's attention. He hadn't. So he'd just watched dumbfounded as she'd sat beside him at his desk, having obviously plucked up the courage to speak to him.

_No._ _Not quite. More likely that she'd been spurred into action._

That was the truth of it. It had been after another one of Steeple's visits. The big man had asked Link yet another question about one of the scrolls he wanted copying.

"W-Well," Link had responded, but that had been enough.

"W-w-what's the p-p-problem?" Steeple had said, sending his friends into a spiral of uncontrollable laughter. "C-cat got the m-mouse's t-tongue?"

Even Stal Jenkins had snorted in disgust. "Good thing I just hire you to write the scrolls and not read them out," the Hylian had growled.

It wasn't even worth getting angry over. Not for _them_, at least. If they'd had even an inkling of the Old Ways, then they would have known that it was always prudent to give due respect to each and every person you met. After all, you never knew what was hiding behind those eyes.

Every day Link came to the shop carrying a dirty rag covered bundle. In the morning, he stowed it away in the sole drawer of his desk and in the evening he took it back to the inn where he was making his temporary home. No one asked him about it. They gave him that much respect, at least.

Good thing, too. He'd hate having to explain why he was bringing a sword with him each and every day.

Good thing that he could control his temper, too, or else Steeple and the boys would have met his blade already.

And so Mya had come to him that day. "Hello," she had said. "Link, isn't it? I'm Mya."

"Um," Link had responded, which had resulted in her favouring him with a dazzling smile.

Not good. Not good at all.

Link had quickly scanned for exits like a good ranger should, but somehow he knew that he wouldn't be able to escape that day. He'd decided instead to scrutinise the scroll laid flat in front of him.

"They're a nasty bunch," she'd said, voice sharp but low. "Steeple and his gang. I hate bullies like him. They get their fun just from hurting people."

Link's attention had flown to the sword in his desk. "Maybe they'd stop if someone hurt them back."

He'd thought he'd said it in that cool, menacing tone of voice that he usually reserved for the most depraved of his opponents. He hadn't expected his words to set Mya off into a fit of giggles.

"Who's going to hurt them?" she said. "You?" She smiled again. "I don't think so. I don't think you could hurt anyone." She said it with the cast iron certainty of youth. "I don't think you're capable."

Link's heart had sunk at that. Zelda had been innocent like that once.

So had he.

They had spoken again the next day, after yet another verbal joust with Steeple.

"He does it to everyone," Mya had said. "Don't let him into your head. You're better than that."

"I'm not-"

"You _are._"

And again that wonderful smile. Link had sighed, admitting defeat. "To everyone?" he'd said instead, not liking the sound of that. "Even you?"

That's when the smile had dropped from Mya's face for the very first time since he'd met her. "My family and I have had…problems with them." Her eyes sparkled again. "But don't you worry. We can handle them. I'm still here, aren't I?"

Her smile was infectious. Link laughed. "Yes. Yes, you are."

The next day, Mya had entered the shop with angry crimson welts smearing her face.

Link had felt his throat tighten, felt his fingers grasp unconsciously for his sword. "Steeple?" he'd said through gritted teeth.

Mya had nodded, sniffing. Her gaze hadn't left the floor from the moment she'd come in.

A muscle had twitched in Link's cheek. He'd heard his chair scrape across the floor as he had stood, had felt the grainy wooden handle of his drawer –

"No."

Link had looked down at the girl, puzzled.

"You'll make it worse," she'd said. "Leave it."

"I'm not afraid."

She'd looked up for the first time that day. "I know you're not." A ghost of a smile had softened her face. "You're not like them, Link. You've never hurt anyone in your life, have you?"

Link had felt his mouth go bone dry.

"Of course he hasn't," Jenkins had said, stepping in. "Look at that eyepiece. Comes from living in books, not the real world." Disgust had coated the man's every word, which was strange considering his profession. "He's not here to be a hero. He's here to copy scrolls. Both of you are. So, get to it!"

The days had passed. Link had tried his damndest not to get too attached to Mya. She, in turn, had tried just as hard to engage him in conversation, to 'bring him out of his shell', as she had put it. She'd thought she'd succeeded. Link knew very well that she hadn't.

Mya had even managed, against Link's better instincts, to coax him into meeting her family. He knew the less that knew of him the better, but she'd been so insistent, so innocently sweet that he'd melted. The Vor Shahal would have scoffed had they witnessed it. Zelda, too, probably. Again, she would've known how to handle the girl. He didn't.

That evening had started off quite awkwardly, too, with Mya's father glaring at him suspiciously over supper. Link had learned that Mya was the eldest of three sisters, that she alone was the family's breadwinner, her father having had his arm crippled by a stray scythe in a farmer's field. They needed the money to help fix the rusted water pump that stood forlornly outside and for…'other things' that Mya was quick to divert any questions away from.

Link had decided to fix the pump for free. Mya had watched him do it, beaming all the while. Even her father had softened a bit after that.

"What was my life before you came here?" she had said when he'd finished.

"The same as it is now," Link had replied, quick to snuff out any other intentions she may have had that last. He didn't want to lead her on, to stoke any hope or longing that she might have harboured within.

Mya had only laughed. "Well I, for one, am glad you came to our humble little village, Link."

He'd felt a little guilty about it all, too. Somewhere out there Saria was still lost – or worse- and here he was writing scrolls and bantering with young girls. The sooner he got out of there, the better. All he needed now was for Vela to turn up. Where _had _she gone…?

"So," Mya said, bringing Link's mind back to the present.

"So," he replied. He smiled. He couldn't help it. Mya did that to people.

"Could you do me a favour?" she said.

Link glanced up. "What is it?"

She smiled her usual smile, then pulled an unfurled scroll from her belt. "Could you copy this for me?" She tapped her fingers on the parchment, then pushed it over to him. "When you're not busy, that is. Please?"

Link laid the scroll flat on the table. He sniffed, eyes narrowed, then peered at it. He glanced up, confused. "It's a picture."

"Yes."

"Of some flowers."

"Yes."

"Who would want a copy of this?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because," she said, with the patient tone of voice she probably reserved for very young children and the insane, "It's a gift. From you to me. Because you want to give me something by which I'll remember you by."

And her face blossomed in a wide grin.

Link blinked.

Then blinked again.

"Oh," he said.

He _desperately_ needed to get out of here. Why should he wait for the Gerudo woman, anyway? He was a ranger. He didn't need anyone. He'd earned enough coin. She could join him in Hyrule if she had to.

A shadow fell over the desk. Before either Mya or Link could even register that, a thick callused hand shot out and wrapped itself around the girl's slender wrist.

"Where's my gift, sweetness?" Steeple crowed. "If your Papa don't pay up soon, I'll be taking both you and your sisters."

"Hey, hey!" Stal Jenkins cried, arms waving. "Not on the premises. _Not here_! Do what you want outside, but not here!"

Mya threw Jenkins a look of pure venom. He merely shrugged and turned away.

"You heard the man," Steeple said, flecks of saliva flying from his cracked lips. He pulled at the struggling girl. "Out in broad daylight. Let's make it a show. I might even charge for the pleasure. I'd make-"

"Stop."

Silence fell in the little shop. Every single head turned to face Link. They'd pushed him so far from their collective notice that they hadn't even noticed him stand, open his desk drawer, and free his gleaming sword from its bed of oiled rags.

"What are you _doing?_" Jenkins spluttered, face red. "Get back to work this-"

"Shut up, old man." Steeple cast Mya aside. "What's that you got there, mouse?" He gestured to his three friends. They flanked him instantly. "Book boy want to play?"

Link looked at each man in turn. He was glad he didn't have to speak anymore. This was going to be _so_ easy.

With a slow, gentle motion, he pulled off his eyeglasses with his free hand, then threw them to the desk in a clatter. Link smiled.

Steeple threw the first punch: slow, ponderous and useless. None of the finesse of the Old Ways about it at all. Link ducked it with ease, then gracefully cracked a sharp elbow into the big man's side. Ribs splintered. Steeple howled.

Steel flashed as Link flipped his sword, pommel now facing up and not down, then smashed the curved metal hilt into the thug's jaw. Splinters of yellow teeth plumed into the air. Steeple staggered back, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. All it took was a final, swift punch to bring him down.

That spurred his three friends out of their stunned inaction. One went for Link's head, another for his chest, the last diving for his legs. Link had already somersaulted to safety. Landing in a crouch, he flexed the fingers of his free hand, then propelled himself forward. His sword tore silk and slashed flesh, a fine spray of blood flying free in its wake.

One down.

Link whirled around, caught an incoming punch, then brought a knee to the thug's stomach. Winded, the man doubled over. An elbow to the back of the neck sent him crashing to the ground.

Two down.

The final man threw caution to the wind, and threw _himself _at Link. The Hero of Time met the move with a spinning kick that sent the man flying across the small shop. He ploughed into a wall lined with wooden shelves, breaking each one with a splintering crack. As he slid down the wall, a flurry of scrolls rained down onto his now unconscious face.

Three down.

"Mya?" Link said, voice soft as he searched around. "It's alright. You're safe." His eyes darted this way and that. "Mya?"

He found her. She cowered under her desk, body shuddering as tears streamed from her bloodshot eyes and down her face. Link moved towards her, but she hissed, scrambling back.

"You're worse than them," she spat, her voice hoarse. "Worse, worse, worse. Bully. _Liar. _I hate you. _Hate_ you."

Link tried to reach for her again, opening his mouth to explain – surely she could see that they wouldn't have stopped if he hadn't intervened? Surely she wasn't that naive?

The stern face of Stal Jenkins filled Link's vision. He pointed to the door. "Out."

As his eyes drifted from Jenkins to Mya, Link found himself in the sudden grip of a hunger he'd been denying for a long time.

He wanted to see Zelda. Needed to see her.

When you've rescued a princess, battled a King of Thieves, and travelled through the fabric of time itself, coincidences no longer surprise you. And so Link wasn't the slightest bit perturbed when he stepped out of the shop to find Vela waiting outside.

What _did_ make the Hero of Time take notice was the look in the Gerudo woman's eyes.

Link felt his heart twist. "What is it?" _It's her, isn't it? Something's happened to her. _"What's wrong?"

Vela handed Link an envelope. "We need to get to Hyrule Castle. This is all the Gerudo spies have been talking about since yesterday. I've already another, but this is a fresh copy."

Link's split open the wax seal and pulled the crackling parchment free. His eyes scanned the scroll. He licked his lips. Read the words again. Frost settled somewhere deep in his innards, hooked into his very gut.

_I knew it. _

The paper crumpled as Link's hand shut into a fist. "Then let's go."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Old. I feel so old." The bed in the small chamber creaked as Zelda sank into it, hands clasped demurely on her lap. A single oval window permitted a cone of sunlight to enter, bathing the air with warmth and radiance. Zelda had to turn her face as its sharp light caught her eyes.

"Oh, stop it," Malon replied. She sat with her back against the opposite wall, hugging her legs, hands with fingers interlaced dropping lazily. Idly, Zelda noticed that Malon was wearing her hair differently today – loose, and not tied back. The princess approved. It suited her. "You're far from old, Highness."

Zelda glanced again at the ranch girl – no, ranch _lady_. After all, Malon was as old as she was, just past her thirtieth year. Twilight years for a man in Hyrule, and positively ancient for a woman. The Gerudo never seemed to have that problem, she noted. If they hadn't been cut down on the battlefield, they seemed to live well into their eighties.

"You're _not_," Malon repeated, as though reading Zelda's thoughts. The ranch woman's eyes were wide and still red-rimmed, yet her face remained calm.

_She's over the worst of her grief, _Zelda mused. _But it must still linger._

Zelda felt the tight hard knot of anguish in her heart pulse in response. They both had recent scars to bear. Hers had been there the moment she'd realised that she'd failed her people.

A shuffle from the corner of the room made Zelda look up. A little boy huddled there, face buried in his hands. He was a companion of Malon's, that's all Zelda knew, but she dearly wished he wasn't here. None of her subjects should she her like this.

"No, Skellow was right," the princess insisted, her attention back with her friend. She glanced at the heavy door, wondered if the guard outside was listening in, then decided quickly that she didn't care. "I missed my youth. I went from a child to the ruler of an entire land." She paused, savouring the taste of her heavy melancholy. "There was no…in-between."

"Oh, and it's not like that for the rest of us, you think?" The heat needling Malon's words made Zelda blink. "What do you think happens to us normal people? I had to start working on the ranch when I was seven. Seven! You didn't hear no grumbles from me. I just did it. Tayer…" - her voice wavered, the muscles in her neck tightening – "Tayer worked for his Da from the age of five. Scarred his arm in one of the forges." Her voice fell to a whisper. "A fine scar it was, too."

Zelda felt the knot of anguish flare. "What are you saying?" she snapped. "That I'm wallowing in self-pity?"

Malon's chin snapped up. "Yes!"

"Stop it!" the little boy whimpered, face still hidden. "Stop shouting!"

"Oh, Ben," Malon said, looking over at him. "Hush, now."

"Can't you send him away?" Zelda said, aching to get the conversation back on track.

Malon flew to her feet. "Away? Away? Away, _where? _ Ben came with me in good faith. We thought we'd be safe here. Find a bit of peace. The castle is crawling with those mercenaries. They'd tear him apart."

Zelda looked away. "They don't want him," she said, her voice dull. "He'd be safe. Send him back to the ranch."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"He'll be safer there than here!" Zelda shot back. "What use can he be? He doesn't even look at me."

Malon stared at her, disbelieving. "That's because he thinks that if he looks at you, something bad will happen to him!"

Zelda gestured weakly. "Oh. _That._"

"What _happened_ to you? You used to be so kind!"

Now Zelda stood bolt upright. "I am kind!"

Malon stood her ground, eyes as fiery as the hair that curtained her face. "Listen to yourself, woman!"

"How dare-"

"No! Listen to yourself. You're kind because you _say_ you are?"

Zelda's hands balled into fists. All she could think about was that splinter of inner pain, throbbing, throbbing. "I protected my people! I protected _you_! We are at war - I have to do things that might- might- " Her voice hitched and she hated herself for it. Quickly she grabbed at Malon's hair. "So, who was your mother, then? I mean, really? Who was it that gave you such _Gerudo _hair?"

Malon slapped Zelda's hand away. They stared daggers at each other, chests heaving.

"Oh…" Zelda closed her eyes. She began rubbing at her temples. "What are we doing? Why are we fighting?"

She felt Malon touch her lightly on the shoulder. "Hush now," the ranch woman said, voice soft. "It's my fault. I started it."

"No, _no._" Zelda shook her head. "It's my fault. Please. Accept my apologies. You're right. About everything." Images of Castleton danced in her mind's eye. The east of the city, near Spicegate, where she let criminals rot, bodies still swinging from creaking gibbets, watched by the severed heads of a line of traitors. Some had been sent to the death without a trial. She'd just gone on what her spies had told her. "The things I've done…"

"I'm scared, that's all," Malon said. She gently sat Zelda down on the bed again. "I think we all are." She glanced over her shoulder. "Ben, it's alright. You can look at the princess. She won't hurt you."

He resisted at first, but after a little more gentle coaxing, the boy gingerly dared to try one peek. When he was satisfied that everything was still intact, he looked again, then finished with a bold stare.

Zelda gave him a weak smile. "Who is he, anyway?"

"Works on the ranch," Malon replied. "He's my little helper. Said it wasn't safe for me to travel to the castle alone. He had to come with me." She smiled, and Ben responded in kind.

"He's what…seven? Eight?"

"Ten."

"Ten." Zelda smiled at him again. "You're very brave."

He looked away in shy pride.

"I am sorry," Malon said. "Must be hard for you, Highness. The weight of ruling and all that. Not many people could handle it. Some people wilt under the slightest pressure. I mean" - a twist of bitterness soured her voice - "my Tayer couldn't even bear the prospect of marrying me. Ended himself, he did."

Zelda blinked in surprise. "Oh. Oh, Malon. It was nothing like that. Nothing like that at all." She'd held back telling everything to her friend before, hoping that she'd glean some extra knowledge from Skellow. There wasn't any need for such reticence now. "Tayer wasn't in full control of his faculties. I should know, I felt it. Experienced the same thing he did."

Malon waited, face expectant.

"It's something called the Sorrow," Zelda continued. "It…does something to people's minds. Makes them feel…feel…" - She sighed, struggling for the right words – "It feeds on everything good and happy and joyful, then sucks it from your soul. Your Tayer wasn't the only one, but he was probably the first. Even now I don't know how I managed to break free." She swallowed. "He died because of the Sorrow, my friend. Not because of you."

Malon listened in silence, eyelashes wet. After a moment, she let free a deep breath. "Thank you."

"It's the truth."

"You said you felt it?"

"I did." Zelda swallowed. "It's terrible."

Malon's hand reached for her's. The simple gesture strengthened the princess's resolve.

"I'll stop it, Malon," Zelda said, fire igniting in her voice. "Once this is over, I will stop the Sorrow. I swear it."

A faint smile touched the ranch woman's lips. "Once this is over? What is 'this', though? What's happening, Princess?" Malon asked. "How come your guardsmen don't suspect a thing? You've not been seen in public for three days now."

Zelda sighed. "My guardsmen know not to ask questions. And they're used to me spending days in my chambers. That's where Skellow kept me before he brought me here today."

"That's a fine strange thing, too. Why bring you to my chamber?"

Zelda gestured at the small window. "Out there. You can see the courtyard. I think he wants me to witness something."

Malon smiled again. "Always the wise one."

Zelda shook her head. "Nonsense. What wisdom did I have, letting a known enemy into my own castle? And I've trained my guardsmen so well that they're completely blind to what's going on." Her fingernails dug into her palm so hard that they hurt. "Inept. That's what I am. Completely inept."

"Stop it now." Malon sat down beside Zelda. "Let's think this through. These mercenaries…"

"Disguised as castle and townsfolk."

Malon drummed her fingers on the mattress. "And they can walk freely through the castle? No papers needed?"

Zelda waved the words away. "It doesn't matter. The papers will have been forged. Skellow has been planning this for a while, it would seem."

"And what does he want?"

"Link, the ranger."

Malon sat up with a little jolt. "Link?"

"Why?" Zelda looked at her friend curiously. She flicked a lock of golden hair out of her eyes. "Do you know him?"

Malon gave her an equally curious look in return. "Um. No. He's just…well, the minstrels in Lon Lon Town. They sing quite highly of the fellow."

"Well," Zelda replied, looking away. "I am bait to draw Link here. Why the ranger would be so concerned when he's never in the past offered his hand to assist the war effort, I don't know. I doubt he'll come."

"Why does this Skellow want Link?"

Zelda shrugged. "Apparently, Link is the Chosen One of the Vor Shahal."

This time Malon's smile was long and genuine. "Wouldn't that just be the truth…"

The princess snorted. "So much for my vaunted spies. They've never informed me of anything bearing the name 'Vor Shahal' before."

Malon seemed to be in deep thought for a few moments before she surprised Zelda by suddenly taking her hand. "Princess. Listen. You have to try to remember." When the princess could only frown in response, the ranch woman went on: "We need to get out of here. Now."

"How?" Zelda shrank back a little. Malon's earnestness was beginning to unsettle her "Even if I had a sword, I'm not really that skilled. And remember what?"

"You could sneak past that guard outside. Seven years you hid from Ganondorf – don't you remember? Anything? Anything at all?"

Zelda felt her heart pound in her chest. The feverish look on her friend's face confirmed the princess' worst suspicions – the grief of losing her fiancé was driving the poor girl mad.

A noise from beyond the window made them all look up. "What's that?" asked Zelda.

"Is it something bad?" said Ben, the fear in his eyes betraying the brave posture he was trying desperately to uphold.

Malon touched him lightly on the shoulder as the two women made their way to the window and both peered out.

"It's a squadron of my guards," said Zelda, frowning. "Why would they be-"

Heavy metal bolts slid open behind them with a thick _clunk._ Zelda turned to see Skellow stride in, a pair of his mercenaries flanking him either side, a wicked looking crossbow bouncing against his thigh. He had an apple in one hand.

"Ah," he said. "Just in time for the show."

"Foul creature," the princess spat. "You dare to enter my presence so brazenly?"

The Gerudo laughed. "You have such a way with words. One wouldn't imagine such steel from lips so soft."

"What do you want?"

He gestured at the window, then took a bite from his apple. "Observe."

Zelda glared at her captor for a moment before slowly turning back to the window. Arranged in a square formation, the squadron stood in silent discipline, with only the twittering of the birds swooping overhead to break the quiet. The sky was smudged grey in the distance - rain was coming soon – but, for now, a sprinkle of sunlight dappled the soldiers' steel armour and, aside from the fact that they were out there at all without her having ordered them to, Zelda couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

The twelve soldiers suddenly drew their swords, eyes alert and darting in fear. Zelda frowned. There was no danger there at –

Wait. There.

Three figures approached from the east. Bright sunlight hid their features for a heartbeat, but then they stepped into the shade and –

"Oh, no," Zelda breathed. "No." Her trembling face turned back to Skellow. "You cannot have-"

"Oh, _yes._" Skellow grinned, taking another bite from the apple. Bubbly juice trickled down his chin. "The best of the best. Or best of the _worst_, if you prefer."

"Princess?" Malon asked, puzzled. "What is it? Who are those people?"

Zelda swallowed. This was something her spy network had told her about a long time ago. A name, one that made even the most villainous of hearts tremble. "The Ruination," she said. "They are the Ruination."

A gleeful Skellow picked up the thread. "The greatest, most fearsome –"

"- wretched, vile," Zelda continued, "immoral-"

"– simply the _best_ mercenaries team in the entire world." Skellow joined them at the window. He sniffed at his apple, then took another bite. "Observe. Macabre, the big Goron. Butcher of the famed heroes for hire known as The Great Deep."

The mercenary in question stood three heads taller than his fellows, a mass of muscle and flab, a spiked hammer resting lazily on his shoulder. His toothy grin was relaxed and hinted at an arrogance that would probably enjoy any ensuing bloodshed.

"Willowreed," Skellow continued. "Don't be fooled by the name. This Zora is the Ice Bitch to Ruto's weak Water Queen."

She stood in slender, serene silence. The only motion the spiked steel ball that swung in slow circles around her head as she spun her flail around and around.

"Finally, the Hylian swordmaster, Jon Skysmith. A thousand times he's drawn his sword to duel. A thousand times he's won."

Slick hair tied back, the well-muscled Hylian held a grim visage and a proud stance as he watched and waited.

Frost coated Zelda's words. "_Thank _you for the education." She kept her eyes pinned on the Ruination. A whisper of something dark and ominous fell upon her heart. A sense of finality, of an epoch finally coming to an end.

"Oh," said Skellow. "The lesson isn't over."

He tapped on the window.

The bloodbath began.

It was a short and brutal dance set to a symphony of screams. When a stray, severed finger slapped the window and left a crimson smear, Malon pulled Ben away and hugged him tight.

"The last line of defence," Skellow murmured. "In case my primary strategy fails, you understand."

When it was all over, the Ruination stood alone and victorious, a sea of limbs at their feet. Jon Skysmith shaded his eyes from the sun and looked up at the window. "Gerudo," he called. "This'll cost you extra. We are not jesters who dance at your beck and call."

Skellow cleared his throat and quickly moved away from the window. "Delightful, isn't he?"

Zelda remained transfixed. When the Gerudo spoke next it was with a heavy regret that made her look up and pay attention.

"I want this less than you, Highness," he said, voice soft. "But you know how to stop it. You know how to end it here."

Zelda felt Malon's surprised gaze alight on her face. She ignored it. "You said the war would be over if I married you." She turned to look at him now. "You have that much power over your people?"

"Ah." He cleared his throat. The look on his face mirrored that of a child caught doing something he shouldn't. "Well. I can suggest-"

"You don't, do you?" Zelda's eyes narrowed. "Come to think of it, who does rule the Gerudo anyway?"

"Marry me and I will spare Link."

Zelda felt her eyes flare. "You think me a fool? This whole charade is _because_ you want Link dead."

"But what of your regard for him-"

"_What_ regard? He's just an acquaintance."

"You lie! The two of you defeated the King of Thieves himself!"

Malon's sharp intake of breath made both the princess and the ambassador turn to her. "How could you possibly know that?" the ranch woman said. "Only a few can remember."

Skellow threw her a disdainful look. "Arcane knowledge is my speciality. But, ah, what's this?" A slow smile spread over his face. "Princess Zelda doesn't remember, does she?"

"No," said Malon. "She doesn't."

Zelda looked from one to the other. "What are you babbling about? Have you both gone mad?"

Before the Gerudo ambassador could reply, a sharp rap came at the door. Skellow turned around in frustration. A harried looking messenger boy, nervously twitching from one foot to the other, swallowed as he held out a scrap of parchment.

"What is it?" Skellow snapped, slapping away the outstretched hand. "Just read it to me, man"

The boy took in a deep breath. "It's him. The one we're waiting for. He's been spotted at the perimeter of Castleton. There's a Gerudo woman with him."

Zelda saw Skellow stumble just a tad, saw his eyes widen. He composed himself quickly.

_He's afraid. Deathly afraid. The kind of fear that prompts men to breach the limits of reason itself and fly off the edge. _

Skellow took one last nonchalant bite from his apple, then cast it aside. He tugged on his tunic. "Good," he said. "Get everything read, then. It begins."

Zelda watched as the Gerudo's men sprang into motion. The shadow fell over her heart once again.

_This is not going to end well._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

It hadn't taken them long to reach Castleton. Link had used the money that he'd earned from the scroll shop and had pooled it with Vela's not inconsiderable funds to buy a horse for the Gerudo woman. Up till then they'd been sharing Link's own steed, and it had been a little too intimate for his liking. It wasn't just the proximity that bothered him, no. It was the fact that he sometimes caught her regarding him with a haunted glaze to her eyes, a look that he'd not seen on any living person before.

A look chilled him to the bones.

How and where Vela had come across her rupees Link didn't ask. He didn't care now. He couldn't.

A suffocating tightness gripped his heart as he spied Hyrule Castle standing tall and proud in the distance. Nervous energy trickled down each and every one of his veins.

_Zelda. _

It was mid-afternoon now and the pair of them, having left their rides tethered outside the city wall, walked the clean cobbled streets just beyond Goldgate in the west of the city. There didn't seem to be, from Link's ranger eyes, anything out of the ordinary. Hylians pushed past them, oblivious to anything except whatever homely concerns drove them on, and only a few people gave them a second look.

It certainly didn't seem like a city in the grip of a hostile coup.

Link turned to the Gerudo woman. "So, tell me again - Aren't you worried about being recognised?"

"No one knows me here, Link."

"Recognised as a Gerudo, I mean."

You could see her eyes and her mouth through the half-mask – styled in the visage of a fox – and there was no mistaking her ethnicity.

"People can't see me," she said, "Unless they're looking for me, or I _want _them to see me."

Link frowned. "How's that?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Let's just call it 'magic' and leave it at that, shall we?"

Link pursed his lips, but did as he was bid. "This Skellow… He must know now that you're with me."

Vela dodged an oncoming cart that had just rumbled into her path. "Trust me, Link. He knows we're here already." She shook mud from her leg. "He's probably been waiting for you."

Link had already suspected the same, but he had to ask anyway: "What makes you say that?"

"That parchment. The one that told me that he'd taken the castle and the princess. Only Gerudo spies received it. Gerudo spies and _me_, that is. He wanted me to know. He wants you to come."

Link glanced at her askance. "And you tell me this now?"

She smiled. "I didn't want you to worry."

"I don't."

"You do," she replied. "You think too much." She turned to him. "So, what's your plan?"

Link shrugged. They were heading down Royal Way now. This was the short path that led from Castleton up to Hyrule Castle itself. Bright flowers bloomed in perfect symmetry on either side of the alabaster and stone trail. "You see where we're going?"

Vela nodded. "Straight into the dragon's den."

"That's the plan."

"Oh." The Gerudo blinked. "My favourite."

"Tell me more about this Skellow."

"Again? Isn't this the twentieth time you've asked?"

"Make it the twenty-first."

Royal Way rose on a steep incline. The murmur of the city began to dissolve in the distance behind them. About a hundred paces up ahead, a gate shone dully under the afternoon sun.

Vela shrugged. "He's a small time ambassador. Ambitious, but most of us just think he's pompous and overbearing." She flicked at a fly that had just landed on her sleeve. "I think he was just given the title to get him out of the way."

"And yet here he is. Hyrule Castle and Princess Zelda under his thumb." Link nodded towards the gate. "Oh, look at that."

Vela stopped, eyebrow arched. "No guards." She clicked her tongue. Another fly landed on her nose and she waved it away in irritation. "Why are there so many of these bugs? It's not even the season for them."

Link's eyes narrowed as a sudden thought came to him. "Why, indeed."

"You do know that this is a trap, right?"

Link felt the tightness in his chest yet again, but still managed a smile for the Gerudo woman. "I've no choice. I have to rescue the princess."

Vela's eyes softened. "Princess Zelda. Right. She always was your one weakness."

Irritation bit at Link. "What would you know?"A sudden surge of emotion made the words fly from his tongue. "I failed my friend. I failed Saria. I'm not going to fail the princess."

Vela stared, her eyes wide. Somewhere in the distance they could hear the gentle slosh of the castle's moat. The sound hung in the air for a moment. "No," she said at last. "No, you haven't."

"Haven't what?"

"Failed Saria."

She surprised him by clutching at his sleeve. Her eyes met his with such intensity that he felt compelled to cleave to silence and let her talk. She opened her mouth, hesitated, cocked her head to the side, drew a breath, licked her lips, then finally spoke.

"What- what if I were to tell you that Saria's safe and sound? As safe as…you and I."

Link's eyes thinned. Still he couldn't break free from her gaze. He batted a stray fly from his face, but his focus remained unchanged. "What are you hiding from me?"

Vela took another breath. "Only that…that Saria's alive. She's alive, and she _loves _you." Yet another deep breath followed. "And that she's done something…something terrible. And she's afraid that you'll hate her for it."

Link, transfixed by Vela's sudden intensity, heard his voice drop to a whisper. "I could never hate her."

"I-" She stopped, her attention suddenly broken. "Link. Look."

He did.

Beyond the gate he saw something round and red lying in a flattened patch of grass. Muscles in his chest twisted. He knew exactly what it was. He wished he didn't, but he did. His stomach curdled.

The Hero of Time drew his sword. He glanced at Vela, who nodded in return and slid her own blade free. Dark rainclouds drifted overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun. Grass crunched under their boots as they pushed open the unlocked gate with a creak. They gazed down at the severed head.

"Soldier," Link said quietly. "One of Zelda's."

"Look." Vela pointed at a trail of thick crimson that winded away from the head and disappeared around the base of the nearest hill.

"Breadcrumbs," Link replied, then motioned for her to follow. His nose twitched. Again, he knew what was coming. You didn't become a ranger without recognising that stench. But why in such intensity…?

They rounded the hill –

Then stopped short. Another mound greeted them, but this one was far from a brushstroke of nature's beauty. This hill was man-made.

Piled high, body upon body, armoured limb upon armoured limb, were what Link reckoned had to be the entirety of Zelda's Royal Guard. Blood - and worse- glistened under the day light. A single helmet, steel rusted with dried gore, marked the mound's highest point. Flies buzzed past the two warriors to go feast on the carnage. Whistling birdsong in the distance provided a sharp contrast.

Link had to find a breath. "Animals."

_Don't get angry._

"Worse," Vela said, her voice hushed. "Mercs. Skellow's favourites. The more brutal the better."

Her words didn't comfort him. If Zelda's elite guard could be slaughtered so easily, it just meant she was even greater danger. With one last look of disgust, the Hero of Time moved off, quickly striding down the path that led to the castle's drawbridge. It was open, he noticed.

"That was a message," he said, voice quiet.

Vela's was just as soft. "I know."

Timber shuddered under their boots as they crossed the bridge. Green water swirled beneath them. A narrow street greeted them as they reached land once more, a row of tall grey battlements on either side. Stone ledges jutted out from above, sandwiched between the second and third floors. Stone stairs wound away from the buildings and up to the towers of Hyrule Castle proper.

Link slowed, then topped, his ears pricking him. He held up a hand and Vela halted. "We're not alone."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, dozens of men and women spilled out of the buildings and into the street. Most were armed – or, at least, armoured – their muscled bodies tattooed and scarred. Chains, swords and axes sang in time with every shuffle and shrug.

"Mercenaries?" Link asked.

Vela nodded in response. A flurry of movement at the far end of the street made the Gerudo woman suck in a sharp breath. "Skellow."

Link looked up, every muscle and nerve coiled and tense. Sure enough, one of the desert men stood there, cloak drifting in the breeze, face triumphant. The first fat spots of rain fell to the ground in a splat. Now it was the Hero's turn to inhale sharply. Skellow clutched Zelda by the arm, the arrowhead of his crossbow resting against her neck.

"Ho, there!" the Gerudo called, the wind flicking at his hair. He grinned. "Good day to you!"

Link stepped forward. He wanted nothing more than to smash the smile from the man's face.

_Don't get angry._

"Let her go."

Skellow laughed. "Oh, come now, be a sport, will you?"

Link felt his throat thicken. "Name your terms, then."

"Just this, Hero of Time," the Gerudo replied, his voice echoing down the street. "A little exercise, if you will. A diversion. Life is so dull without amusement, don't you think?" He laughed again, then gestured with his free hand. "You see before you my own private army – fully paid, of course, and with years and years of hard service."

"Not impressed."

Skellow cackled. "Ah, the famed courage. Listen. All that I require from you is this: that you make your way from where you're standing now, all the way down this short little street, and come stand before me right here. You do that – alive – and you win the prize. Can you guess what it is?" He shook Zelda's arm. "The princess, of course. Fail, though, and she's mine. I swear this by the Pax Orinica. Ask your little friend there."

"It's true," Vela murmured. "He's now bound as a Gerudo to honour his word."

Link's ranger eyes had already begun to scan the surroundings. "Not very creative, is it?"

"Oh no, on the contrary." Skellow's smile widened. "That's the whole beauty of it. The sheer simplicity. I've studied your history. I've seen what others did wrong. I don't need an elaborate plan to kill you, Link. I'll just throw sheer weight of numbers and pure bloody-mindedness straight at you."

"I'm not afraid."

Skellow laughed. "That's the spirit!"

Link saw Vela snap around to look at him. "What are you saying?" She clutched at his sleeve in desperation. "Don't be insane, Link! You can't take them all on! You'll be killed!"

Link glanced at her, hesitated as tears streamed down her face. That made him frown. _Tears?_ _Why?_

Vela clutched harder. "You _will_!"

"I-"

"Help!"

They both snapped their heads up to see a tiny face leaning out from a window in one of the castle's towers. Smoke began to trail out from the small, oval opening.

"Help!" the boy cried. Flames licked the air behind his little head. "Help us!"

Another figure appeared, a flash of red hair –

"Malon." Link shot a look at Vela. "She's my-"

"I'm on it." Vela ran, bounding up the stone staircase three steps at a time.

Skellow's voice cut through the air. "Are you ready to do the impossible, Link?"

Link glanced at Zelda, saw the faint traces of her tears plastered to his face. His heart surged and he smiled a grim smile. "Impossible is my forte."

Link turned to face his destiny.

...

_Damn! Damn! Damn!_

Vela – _Saria_ – knew a diversion when she saw one, and this was it. Her lungs burned as she pushed herself up the winding stairs. She encountered no resistance, no guards or soldiers of any kind. She hadn't expected to. They'd done this just to keep Link alone.

_Idiot! He's going to fight them all by himself!_

She reached the door and splintered it open with a hard kick. Thick, acrid smoke flew into her face. She doubled over, coughing as her stung eyes began streaming.

Fear hooked the very centre of her soul. It almost dragged her down. The fear wasn't for her, though. It was for him.

_Why didn't I just tell him? Why didn't I tell him the truth?_

A child's cry broke her out of her thoughts. She peered into the gloom, saw crimson cinders raining from the ceiling within in slow, lazy pirouettes.

"Hang on!" she called. "I'm coming!"

And with that, she waded into the dark.

...

The mercenaries waited in silence. More rain started to drizzle down now, tinkling against metal and stone.

Link glanced up quickly at the granite ledges jutting out above. High. Too high for a normal person to jump up to.

And yet…there was a little Vor Shahal trick that he could use, one that would give him a slight – albeit temporary – advantage. The only caveat was that it would use up a lot of his energy…

The mercs shuffled forward. One grinned, slapping a splintered wooden club rhythmically against his palm.

Link held his ground, feet set in a defensive stance. He could just wade in or…he glanced up at the ledge again.

He made his decision.

Closing his eyes a fraction, he slowed his breath, let his body go limp. He sheathed his sword. He could imagine the looks on the mercs' faces and that made him smile.

_Light._

_Light as a feather._

His eyes flew fully open. Link took a step, then two, then flung himself into the air, arms outstretched, wind rippling his tunic. The assembled throng, stunned, watched as one as he rolled mid-air and pulled free his bow. As the Hero began his descent he set a trio of arrows to the string, then released them in quick succession.

_Thuc. Thuc. Thuc._

The first one shattered a skull; the second found unprotected flesh; the third pinned a leg to the ground.

Link landed on one of the high ledges, another set of arrows already set to his bow. Scattering in panic, the mercenaries began running in a chaotic mass as the Hero of Time rained death down upon their heads. He picked his targets this time, his bow arm following his eyes in liquid swift movements. He honed in on the mercs closest to him that held weapons and took them all out. Their shouts and screams hung heavy with terror and pain.

Link glanced up. The Gerudo was still standing at the rear, though now his mouth hung agape. Link's grim satisfaction vanished as his eyes found Zelda's. The fear he saw there made his heart twist painfully. He sprang to his feet, dodging the projectiles – stones and debris mostly –that the mercs below were now pelting in his direction. He leapt to the next ledge, ran, then leapt to the next, twisting as he landed to let fly with another barrage of arrows. Cries, cracks and shrieks followed wherever his arrows hit home.

Link somersaulted across to the next ledge, landed –

And collapsed down, down, down as the masonry gave way. Chunks of stone and marble struck him as he fell, tearing at his tunic and splitting the skin beneath. Landing in a heap that sent a sharp spasm through the entirety of his body, and breathing heavily, Link had only the briefest of moments to get back to his feet before the mercenaries were upon him.

The heavens picked that moment to open, and a torrent of rain drummed down on the combatants. Link's eyes thinned, his focus narrowing. He heard the thick pumping of his overworked heart, felt the storm of emotions raging within. Anger that the Gerudo would dare touch Zelda so, regret that he'd never told her everything that he'd wanted to tell her and, finally, the crystal clear realisation that he'd loved her all along, ever since they'd brought down Ganondorf side-by-side.

Skellow wasn't going to have her.

The mercenaries stared at Link.

Link stared at the mercenaries.

In his mind eye they now all wore Skellow's visage.

Link cracked his bow in the face of the oncoming merc, lacquered wood shattering as well as hard bone. Casting aside his now useless weapon, the Hero of Time slid steel free and ploughed in. His first swing sliced open flesh; twirling, his second sent a snarling head flying from its neck. He went low next, sweeping a merc's legs from under her, then he sprung back up and thrust his sword straight down through her chest. Blood sprayed up, turning the rainwater red.

The Hero of Time twisted his blade free with such force that his elbow cracked the teeth of a growling man who imagined he could sneak up on Link.

Another face appeared, armed this time with a sword. Link ducked the swing, let his own blade spin, then thrust it straight between his assailant's eyes.

The mercenaries backed off.

Rain ran down Link's face now, mixing with sweat and stinging his eyes. His breathing rapid, he glanced over at where the Gerudo stood with Princess Zelda. The man hadn't run. At least he had that much honour.

He wasn't the only one. A crimson clad mercenary stepped forward, sword in hand. "One on one," the man declared, gesturing at the others to hold off.

Link wiped his face with his sleeve. He nodded.

Too slow.

The merc had already leapt forward for a strike, slicing Link's flank. Gritting his teeth against the pain that shot up his body, Link fell back. His tunic clung to him now, thick with both blood and water.

With a cocky smile, the crimson clad merc leapt into the air, mimicking poorly Link's earlier flight. He hung there a moment, framed by fading sunlight, then plummeted, sword swinging.

_Idiot._

Link met him with single, elegant arc that took off the man's head. Casting off the heavy corpse as it landed on him, the Hero of Time readied himself for the next onslaught.

They didn't wait this time.

Panic started to clamour for his attention, but Link drove on, sword flashing as he cut, swung and thrust. But they were getting to him now. He felt every jab, punch and strike, felt a cold needle of pain as something punctured him on his healthy flank, felt his neck snap and the world spin as a fist smashed into his left eye.

He was tiring now, tired and sluggish.

Link ducked, and his neck screamed in protest. He let his blade chop air as it spun, then parried a sword strike and countered with a thrust of his own. Steel sang. Sparks and rainwater sizzled and hissed. He thrust again, striking chain mail, and the muscles in his arm protested in agony. He tried to spring forward, but his legs felt heavy and slow.

Link hacked at a mercenary wrist, saw the twitching hand fly free; parried an axe blow, then kicked its owner in his face, shattering bone; threw his own head into another man's jaw, sending them both spinning. Nothing but desperation drove him on now.

_Zelda. I'm going to fail her._

_Don't get angry._

_Zelda._

_Don't get angry._

_ZELDA!_

_Don't get-_

With a scream by which he could taste the blood in his mouth, Link threw himself into the fray, all fists, steel sword and pure muscle.

...

"He..." Skellow cleared his throat, shifting nervously on his feet. Zelda felt the Gerudo's fingernails dig deeper into her arm. "He isn't going to stop."

Her fear forgotten momentarily, Zelda watched in wide-eyed awe as Link inched closer and closer. He had single-handedly cut a path through the mercenaries, had left a trail of broken and quivering bodies in his wake. She observed as one of the attackers threw caution to the rain-drenched wind and leapt for the ranger. Link dodged, caught the woman in mid-flight, then drove her face into the hard ground.

"He's the Chosen One," Zelda breathed.

The words had barely left her lips when one of the mercenaries sliced at Link's left leg. Zelda's heart froze as the ranger collapsed, her hand flying to clutch at the front of her dress. The ranger's assailants fell upon him, pounding and slashing away without mercy or respite.

"Yes!" Skellow cried, jumping like a child. "That's it!"

Link's sword flashed in fury. Hope surged in Zelda's heart. She felt her hands ball into fists. _Back! He's fighting back!_

"No…" Skellow gasped. "Die! Just die, why don't you?"

Link was so close now Zelda felt sure that she could almost touch him. His clothes were torn and ragged, more deep scarlet now than green. His left eye had turned purple and swollen to the size of a Deku Nut. She could hear his breathing whistling through his mouth.

_Why? Why is he doing this? Just for me? Just for-_

The back of her hand twitched. She glanced down, careful not to attract Skellow's attention. The symbol of the Triforce glowed gold on her pale skin. She frowned, then -

The memories flooded back with such a jolt that Zelda almost stumbled.

"Steady yourself," Skellow growled.

Zelda hardly cared. Images flashed across her mind, seared into her soul.

_A little girl scared for her father, scared because of that evil, evil man – but who's this boy? This boy, so small, so brave, who promises to find the Spiritual Stones for her…?_

_The sound of galloping hooves drive into her head. Impa clutches her tightly and the night air tastes of dread anticipation. Wait…there he is again! The Ocarina of Time! He has to have it! He has to…_

_He's a man now. So tall, so confident. She feels so safe with him. Her dearest hope is that she forgives him. Forgives him when she reveals that Sheik was, all along, no-one else but…_

_Flee! Flee from the castle! It's shaking itself apart! But, in amongst all the chaos and pain, he takes her by the hand, smiles, and promises her that all will end well…_

_He doesn't want to go, but she insists. She couldn't live with herself otherwise. 'Go home…regain your lost time…' She doesn't believe the words coming out of her mouth and, she knows, neither does he. But it has to be done…it has to…if there were only a way to blot out the memories…to hide away the pain…_

Zelda snapped back to the present. The mercenaries were all dead. Rain spattered the crimson stained ground. Link lay flat on the floor, dragging himself towards her, his single healthy eye fixed on her face. His breath whistled. There was no other noise but that and the relentless rain.

"No…" she gasped. "Oh, no…"

As though in a daze, she saw her water-soaked hand reach out for him. A fork of lightning split the sky and veined her skin with the colour of silver. She thought she heard Skellow whisper some sort of denial, over and over like a mantra. It didn't matter.

Link raised a trembling hand. He coughed. Flecks of blood fell at her feet. He reached again, slowly, slowly, the tips of their fingers brushing –

The Ruination peeled out of the shadows.

Zelda gasped.

Link must have heard. He coughed. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Slowly – ever so slowly – he tried to turn his head in their direction.

The shock of what was about to happen made Zelda's every limb seize up in icy dread.

Willowreed's flail caught first, the chain wrapping itself around Link's leg, the spiked metal ball biting into his thigh. With a snarl, she pulled hard. Something snapped. Link roared.

Jon Skysmith and Macabre followed through, both swinging their weapons in at the same time –

And with a surge of strength Link's sword arm flew up, parrying both the hammer strike and the sword swing in quick succession. He ploughed his blade into the flail's chain with a snap. Willowreed fell backwards, shocked and –

With Link's sword still occupied, Skysmith struck, driving his sword through the Hero's chest and into the ground beneath. Link's whole body arced unnaturally in pain.

With a laugh that mirrored his name, Macabre sent his spiked hammer crashing into the Hero of Time's skull.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

As Zelda watched the light fade from Link's eyes, the final wave of memories engulfed her, sweeping aside the last strands of her rational mind. Emotions: fear, hope –

_Love._

"Link…"

The world blurred as the tears came. Numb and hollow to the core, Princess Zelda slowly turned to face the metal arrowhead that had held her prisoner all this time.

The crossbow fired.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The fire roared in Vela's ears. Coughing and spluttering, she pulled herself through the passageway, skin coated in a film of grimy sweat, tunic damp and clinging. Her nose twitched as hot flakes of ash, caught on the scorching draft, assaulted her face.

This was ridiculous. She was helping no-one here, not Malon, and certainly not Link. With a sharp tug, she cast her fox mask aside. Eyes still blinded and stinging from the stifling smoke, Vela paused for a moment, her ears pricking up.

_There_! The faint wail of a child's cry coming from just…over…

Vela leapt to the left, over a burning hunk of now unrecognisable furniture, the flames licking up to singe the heels of her boots. She ran down a side corridor, felt the heat seep through beneath to kiss the soles of her feet. A wooden door was set into the right wall, and a steel one marked the exit on the far side. Glancing up, a sudden thought struck her– where were the rest of the castle folk?

The child's voice cut through her thoughts. Vela skidded to a halt in front of the solid oak door. She placed her palm on to its rough surface. Burning wood popped and spat. Her ears pricked up again. The voice was definitely coming from behind here.

"Stand clear!" she called. Vela stepped back, took a slight breath, then cracked the door with a kick. A single plank splintered. The door remained shut, taunting her with its solidity.

A wave of panic washed over the entirety of Vela's body. She wiped away a smear of sweat from her face.

"Help!" the child called from beyond the heavy wood. _"Please_!"

Vela's face contorted in a snarl as determination ran through her veins. She spat, tensed her muscles, then slammed her shoulder into the door. Pain needled down her arm and made her head suddenly swim. Still the door hadn't opened. Her lungs contracted painfully, demanding that they be fed fresh air. She banged the wood with her palm in frustration.

A wheezing series of barking coughs overtook her for a moment. She gasped, feeling grit-stained saliva trickled down her chin.

Vela glanced up. Her stomach lurched, but she bit down and forced the bitter bile back down. She took another breath.

Malon. Malon wasn't just Link's friend. She was Saria's, too. Link used to bring the ranch girl to the Kokiri Village, back when they'd all been so young.

With a yell, Vela threw herself at the door once again. Metal hinges squealed in protest. Splinters spiralled away into the air. Another kick was all it took – the door shattered open.

A little boy, face grimy and wet with tears, was pushed quickly out of the opening. Malon closely followed, bent double with coughing, her eyes red.

"Take him," the ranch woman gasped. "Get Ben to safety." She looked up, then quickly clutched the boy back to her bosom. "You're a Gerudo!"

"I'm a friend," Vela replied.

Malon hesitated, still clinging to the boy. She'd obviously caught something in the sincerity running thick in Vela's voice.

"A friend of Link's," she continued. "My name's Vela." She didn't have time for this. "Trust me. Please!"

The ranch woman, clearly realising that she had little choice anyway, nodded.

Shielding her face with her arm, Vela started for the steel door at the end of the corridor. "I don't- don't think –" She coughed. Her head was starting to spin again, the stench of smoke overpowering her lungs.

" – don't think the fire's reached beyond that there door," Malon finished for her.

Vela glanced at her, and then nodded. She knew Malon from her old life. Knew she wasn't dull-witted.

"Then no point dawdling, is there?" Malon said, pushing past her and running. Vela followed quickly, batting away burning cinders of ash that rained down from the ceiling. She glanced up, saw that the fire had eaten holes in the expensive tapestries above, leaving only puckered, scarlet haloes that gave off a molten glow.

The steel door was unlocked – thankfully – and the three of them pulled it open and slipped into the passageway beyond. Vela closed her eyes, slumped back against the metal, and took in a lungful of cool, sweet air. A ribbon of rain water swirled in from an open window on their right. Ben was weeping now, and Malon cradled him in a hug.

Exhausted and lost in their own thoughts, the only sound that accompanied them was the relentless drumming of the rain.

A mental jolt forced Vela's eyes open.

Malon glanced up. "What is it?"

Slowly, Vela pulled away from the door. Her nerves tingled. A clammy coldness spread over her skin.

She'd always been able to sense Link's presence, every since she'd obtained the ruby that had turned her into a Gerudo. The same ruby that she hadn't been able to tell Link about, instead just fobbing off her ability to remain unseen in Castleton as 'magic.'

Link.

She'd always found his presence comforting, even when she knew that danger crept around every corner of his life.

_Link._

His presence had just vanished. Completely vanished. A void remained, a literal absence. Cold. Empty. Vela felt as though she'd just lost one of her limbs.

Or her heart.

She rushed to the window. Her vantage point, she saw, was just above the castle's open doorway. She saw Skellow just below her, and Princess Zelda, too. Vela's eyes widened. She felt Malon and Ben come to stand beside her -

-just in time to see Princess Zelda go flying backwards as Skellow's crossbow exploded to life in her face.

Malon screamed.

Ben buried his face in the folds of the ranch woman's dress.

Outside, Skellow looked up at the window sharply. He grinned. "Ah," he crowed. "An _audience._"

Vela's eyes scanned the scene quickly. Skellow and his bow, a trio of mercenaries – she recognised them as the Ruination; she knew them well from Gerudo descriptions of them –moved into defensive positions, and at their feet, sodden with blood, rain and mud, there lay –

Vela's heart leapt to her throat.

_Link. _

_Link's dead._

The words fell like lead upon her soul.

Skellow noticed her regard. "Looks like you chose the wrong side, girl," he called. "What do you think of your Hero now?" Leaning down, the Gerudo's grinning face hovered close to the body. "Come on, Hero – fight back!" His laughter had the edge of mania to it. "Kill me! You were supposed to kill me!"

Fury burned in Vela's veins, yet she couldn't find the voice or the clarity of thought to act upon it. Beside her she heard Malon's breathing hitching in a rapid, hysterical tempo. She wished she could comfort her one-time friend. She wished more that she could comfort _herself._

The rain had started to dissipate now, sunlight peeking out from behind departing grey clouds. To Vela, though, the world seemed suddenly dark. Eternally dark.

Skellow turned back to them. "Princess Zelda is dead. The war is over." He began to cackle, a crazed look glazing his eyes. "You all underestimated me. Back home, every single one of you. Oh, don't think I didn't know. The things you were all saying behind me back. Well, look at me now. _Look at me_!"

His voice rolled around the empty street. Still Vela couldn't make her tongue work. A violent, painful grief bubbled in the very centre of her heart. She wiped away tears she hadn't even known were there.

Skellow wasn't finished. "Listen. _Listen to me_!" he snarled. "_This_ is the reward of a life lived well." He gave Link's body a vicious kick. "Friendless and alone, disappointment after disappointment, and the result? Why, a _painful_, meaningless death, of course. Thus, you see the fruits of a virtuous life! Failure! Utter failure!" He had to pause to clear his throat. "Get what you want at any and all costs – _this _is the lesson you should take. Has it sunk in yet?" When no-one replied, he continued. "_Has it? No?__" _A feverish grin grew wide on his lips. "Then I must illustrate it further."

He gestured towards the open doorway of the castle. Two Hylian messenger boys appeared, shuffling with nervous fear.

"Torch," Skellow said to one of them.

The young boy frowned. "Sir? What do-"

Skellow raised his crossbow and fired. The bolt tore through the boy's chest with a dull crack. "Too slow," the Gerudo drawled. He looked at the other boy. _"Torch_._"_

The Hylian scampered away for a moment, a dark stain spreading quickly down his leggings, then ran back brandishing a Deku stick burning at one end. Skellow snatched it from the boy, then knelt down beside Link.

"Observe," he said. The Gerudo pulled a bottle from his belt, then thumbed open the stopper with a pop. He doused the Hero's body with the thick liquid, casting the bottle aside when it became empty. Skellow lifted Link's shattered head by the hair. He paused only to spit in the Hero's face, then set the torch to Link's skin.

Malon whimpered. Vela felt her chest heaving, felt the rage threaten to engulf her. Her hands curled into fists. She would have torn them all apart with her bare hands if she'd been able to – Skellow, the Ruination, she would have made them all suffer.

The corpse was blackening now, withering away as the flames began to feast. With a look of serene satisfaction etched on his face, Skellow turned to the Hylian messenger boy. "You. Find my guards and put out the fire in the castle." Liquid sighs hissed from the burning lump at his feet. He looked at the Ruination, then gestured up at where Vela and the others watched. "Bring them to me. _Now._"

Vela pushed hard away from the window and snatched at Malon's wrist. "We have to go – move!"

The ranch woman wouldn't budge. "I – I –" she gasped. "He _shot_ her. He shot Zelda!_ In the face! _ And Link! Link is- is-is-" She buried her face in her hands.

Vela took Malon by the shoulders. "Breathe!" she said. "Come on, breathe!"

Malon shook her head violently. "C-can't. Don't want to- to-"

"Come _on_!" Panic set Vela's nerves on edge. She heard the dull thump of boots on stairs. "They're coming for us." She gave Malon a stiff shake. "Listen to me. This is _war_. This is what happens in war."

"But-but Zelda. Link-"

"The Hylians have done things just as bad to their prisoners," Vela snapped back. She regretted the words instantly. _Listen to me_, she thought. _This isn't the time for a moral debate._ She softened her voice. "The boy. Ben. He needs you. Snap out of it. For his sake. _Please_."

Malon blinked. She looked at Ben. The boy's face was ashen, his eyes shell-shocked. "You're right," Malon breathed. She took Ben by the hand, then looked at Vela. The ranch woman held up her chin, and the muscles in her face stiffened. Only her eyes now betrayed the depth of her pain. "Lead the way."

Vela felt a sudden surge of pride for her. She pursed her lips and nodded.

They ran.

Twisting around corridors, jumping over upturned tables, dodging this way and that, they ran. And yet, Vela knew something that the other two didn't. She knew that they were being chased by the Ruination.

And that meant that they couldn't possibly win.

Perhaps it would be better this way, she mused. Let the Ruination kill her, and she could never become the Herald of the Sorrow ever again. After all, the only two people that could have helped her – Link and Zelda –were now both dead.

Yes. It would be better.

She was a Gerudo now, and she'd face her death with the same stiff dignity as was the custom of her people.

_Most_ of her people.

The thought of Skellow curdled her stomach cold. Pathetic, worthless worm of a man. Unfortunately, it was precisely that type – the desperate and downtrodden – that made the most dangerous of foes.

Vela spun into another corridor, the others close on her heels. She glanced at Ben. Icy fear needled her in the gut. She couldn't let Skellow get the boy. If she had to, she would snap Ben's neck herself. It would be quick and painless.

Vela's mouth went dry. Her hands trembled at the thought.

_What a life._

The wall behind them exploded in a cloud of masonry and plaster. Spinning around, the trio caught sight of the big grinning Goron as he lumbered through the hole, spiked hammer clutched in one beefy hand.

Vela threw out one arm protectively, and drew her sword with the other. "Steady."

It was useless, of course. She wouldn't be able to go toe-to-toe with this monster. But she had to do something. _Anything._

"Little fly," the Goron said. "You don't think you can hurt me, can you?"

Vela licked her lips. She heard the boards beneath her boots creak. The three of them took a step back. Then another. Then –

One of the boards snapped. With a cry, the little boy fell through.

"Ben!" Malon screamed.

Relief sang in Vela's soul. "Leave him!" she cried. "He'll be safer this way! He_ will_! Run!"

The look Malon gave her was more venomous than any poison the world could offer, but the ranch woman allowed herself to be dragged away as Vela led their retreat. The Goron's bellowing laugh boomed in the air behind them.

_I hope he'll be safe,_ Vela mused. _If all three of them are chasing us, then that might give him a chance to flee._

And _that_ gave Vela a renewed sense of purpose. She had to keep the two of them alive just to give Ben enough time to escape. It's what Link would've done. Hot determination melted away Vela's sorrow. Her boots banged into the floor as her running took on an extra surge of vigour.

A flicker of movement up ahead caught Vela's attention. She slowed for a moment, then let her eyes narrow as she saw the Zora woman step out and into their path. Letting Malon go, Vela lunged in with her sword.

The Zora was too quick. She dodged the initial attack with liquid ease, then dropped an elbow down to crack into Vela's arm. The thin Gerudo sword fell from her fingers. Vela shrieked as the Zora grabbed her by the hair, then smashed her face into the wall.

Dizzy, the copper taste of blood on her lips, Vela sank to the floor. That was nothing, though. That would pass. It was the taste of humiliation and, more, the bitter taste of defeat that would linger the most. She felt Malon's light touch on her skin. The ranch woman had sank to her ground, half-sprawled over Vela's body in a brave but poor attempt at protection.

Willowreed stood over them both, smirking. "It's finished," she said as Macabre joined her. "Take them to Skellow."

Macabre grinned. "With pleasure."

He yanked both women by the hair, then dragged them painfully all the way to Hyrule Castle's Grand Hall. Willowreed followed, gracefully regal in her steps.

Skellow awaited them there, a pair of Gerudo guards behind him. Ash clung to the guards' cloaks. Dimly, Vela realised that they must have been successful in putting out the fire.

_Hurrah for them, _she thought bitterly.

The last member of the Ruination – the Hylian swordsman - stood there, too. Skellow glanced at his new prisoners, then up at the man. "Take your team and find the boy," the Gerudo said.

Distaste hung from the Hylian's face. "The capture and killing of children is beneath us," he replied.

Skellow, glaring, drew himself up to his full height. "_Nothing_ is beneath you so long as I am paying for it. Understand?"

The Hylian glared back for a heartbeat, then nodded. He gestured at his team, and then led the Ruination out.

Vela and Malon stood in silence. The Grand Hall was big, far too big, and Vela felt vulnerable and exposed. She gazed at the marble floor, traced the intricate patterns with her eyes. Still, no one spoke. The waiting was making her skin itch.

_Just be over and done with it. Please._

She snuck a glance at Malon. What she saw there made Vela's cheeks burn with shame. The ranch woman stood with back straight and chin up, her eyes burning as she refused to be stared down by their Gerudo captor.

Vela drew strength from that. She lifted her head, and fixed her eyes on to Skellow.

He, in turn, looked from one woman to the other, his cheek twitching. For a moment, he looked as though he was ready to strike them both. Skellow let out a deep breath, the muscles in his face visibly relaxing. He smiled.

"Not bad for a day's work, wouldn't you say?" He breathed deeply again. "But now I think it's time for my reward. Yes. My reward." He looked from Malon to Vela. "Food. Wealth. Women."

Vela scowled. "I doubt that's where you heart lies."

Skellow laughed at that. "How well you read me..."

"Power, then," Vela spat. "Typical."

Skellow raised an eyebrow. "Power, yes," he said, his tone contemplative. "But the best type. Which is what, hmm?"

"No doubt you'll entertain us with the explanation."

"'Entertain.' Ha! How apt!"

Fear was growing deep in Vela's stomach now, the sort of helpless dread that a warrior felt in that very last moment of life, that moment when you knew the blade heading straight for your neck was the one that had had, from time's first breath, your blood destined to be on it. Pain was coming. It was inevitable now.

And yet, still, Vela felt the need to goad him. "Go on, then," she said. "What's the best type of power?"

"It's where you have another person's life in the palm of your hand. And then, and this is the sweet bit, you choose how much pain – and in what manner – you wish to inflict."

A hungry look engulfed the Gerudo's eyes. Vela's gut twisted - her worst fears had been realised.

"So, tell me," he went on. "What have you got to offer, my pretties?"

Skellow's deep laughter echoed around the Grand Hall.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Ben promised himself that he wouldn't feel scared. He definitely wasn't going to cry. No way.

The children back at Lon Lon Town, they'd always tease him about that, about how he got teary at the littlest thing, like when he'd stubbed his toe on a broken slab and the blood had welled up really quickly. It wasn't his fault that he got upset so easily. At least he didn't think it was.

And the toe thing? The blood had been so dark and thick it had smeared his whole foot red. Ben reckoned that even the Legendary Hero would've been upset seeing it.

It was just the way he was. The other children didn't understand, though. That just made him angry. Then he'd feel teary. And _then_ they'd start that stupid chant.

_Lit-tle girl, lit-tle girl, Ben is a lit-tle girl._

And that just made him feel madder! He'd always wanted to prove them wrong. That's why he'd decided to go with Malon to the castle. He'd ignored Ma's fussing over him, just stuck out his chin and said that he was going and that was that. Da hadn't fussed, but Ben had been able to tell that he was worried. He had been all smiles and hugs, but there had been something sad in his eyes, too.

Ben hadn't liked that.

And now here he was, but he wasn't quite sure _where _here was.

He remembered falling through the floor when that big Goron had turned up, remembered falling and falling, then he'd hit his head and everything had gone black. When he woke up again, he'd found himself in this tunnel, with its slimy walls and brown, smelly water puddling the floor.

Sometimes there were little holes in those walls and he could see other rooms. Sometimes he even spied a bit of the outside. It was all very odd, but it was enough to tell him that he was still in the castle.

He liked those holes, though. They made sure that it didn't get too dark in this grey tunnel.

Ben wondered where Malon was and that wondering made his insides feel cold. That big Goron had looked like he had wanted to hurt all of them. Ben didn't want that. Especially not for Malon. He was supposed to be protecting her, after all.

He wasn't scared, though. He just didn't know how to get out of this tunnel. Sitting cross-legged on the solid wet ground, Ben decided to ponder his situation. There had to be a way out. He just had to think and it would come to him, like how he'd suddenly remember an answer to a sum when one of his tutors would ask him out of the blue.

He nodded to himself. That was it. He just had to think.

Ben scrunched up his face and made his brain think.

His stomach rumbled in response.

Ben frowned. Ma always said he could never stop thinking about food. It was a stupid time to do it now, too. One, he didn't know where to get any food and, two, there was a lot of badness going on, a lot of danger, and he had to find a way to escape from it all. And take Malon with him, of course. The other lady could come, too, if she wanted.

He looked around. There were _things_ crawling in the tunnel, he knew that. When he'd first landed here, he'd felt something tickling his hand. When he'd brought it up to his face, he'd seen a humongous roach, as big as his fist, sitting there like a king on its throne with twitching antennae moving this way and that. He'd screamed then. He hadn't been able to help it. You couldn't be brave _all _of the time, could you?

Ben shuddered at the memory.

He wondered how hungry he'd have to get before one of those huge roaches started to look like a nice, filling snack.

His stomach protested sourly at the thought.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Ben twitched. Had he just heard a noise? His pointed ears pricked up as he strained and strained. No further sound came to him. Perhaps it had been nothing. Just his imagination.

After a moment, Ben decided that the only thing he could do was keep moving. After all, a tunnel had to come to end somewhere, right?

_Right._

He nodded, pushed himself to his feet, and then started to walk.

…

_How much pain can one person take?_

Malon felt a vein throb near her right eye. Tension, that's what her Da would've said. Would bring on an almighty headache if she wasn't careful. Hurt right fierce it would, too, mind. But, then, it wasn't her head that bothered her anymore. It was her heart.

The inside of her chest felt like a cold slab of lead just waiting to burst. If it did, she thought, she might just crumple up and die.

Tayer, Ben, Link, Zelda – all gone.

Four mortal hammer blows to the soul and yet life fought on. _She_ fought on.

_True enough, girl, but for how much longer?_

All she'd wanted to do was flee to the castle and find some sort of comfort. That, and some answers, too. Well, she'd found out about the Sorrow, that was true enough. She just couldn't make head nor tail of it. And as for comfort? Look her now: standing here under the pale marble pillars and blue domed roof of the Grand Hall just waiting for the end. The whole situation spelt out only one thing: yet another fine mess.

Skellow, their Gerudo captor, lounged in a large chair set in the centre of the Hall, his legs hanging over one gold-gilded armrest. The man made Malon's skin crawl and her stomach retch. Most of all, though, he filled the entirety of her being with a sense of cold, clammy dread.

_I'm going to die here. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, going to –_

She clamped down hard on her thoughts. Her breathing slowed. Casting a quick glance at the other woman – Vela – revealed a hard, stoic expression that Malon hoped was mirrored perfectly on her own face.

She should be angry with the Gerudo woman, she knew. Vela had just left Ben to his fate, caring only that the two of them should flee. She should be angry, but she found she couldn't. They were in this together now, strangers against a common foe.

_How about that? Me, getting pally with a Gerudo._

Skellow cleared his throat, breaking Malon out of her musings. One of his guards approached carry a jade bottle and a thin, long needle on a silver tray. Skellow took both of these, then swung his legs off of the chair.

Malon braced herself.

_Alright, then. Here it comes. I hope my Tayer's there to greet me. Hope Link and Zelda are there, too._

Skellow held up the bottle and gave it a little shake. Dark liquid bubbled and frothed within. He glanced at the two women.

"No, you won't know what this is," he said. "So don't bother asking." He licked his lips, the Adam's apple in his throat visibly bobbing up and down. "This, my pretties, is the sweetest of all elixirs. I had it made especially, you see, just needed my man here to mix it for me. I was going to give it as a wedding present to Princess Zelda. Had she not turned me down, of course."

Malon hated the man even more. He was trying to scare them and she, for one, had had enough of it. She raised her chin and found her voice. "Wedding?" she spat, forcing as much venomous disdain into her voice as possible. "I thought you said you were all high and mighty above all that."

"Let me finish," the Gerudo snapped. "Do you know what a drop of this potion will do, just one single drop? It'll work its way into your brain within moments. Then it'll bury itself deep, _deep _inside." He paused, clearly trying to savour their discomfort. "And then it'll place a seed in your mind. A…notion, if you will. An idea. A magnificent idea."

Lust blazed in the man's eyes and Malon felt a tide of choking bile rise in response.

_Oh, why? Why did it have to end like this?_

The Gerudo picked up the thread of his words. "There are a thousand and one ways to torture another person. Did you both know that? No? Shame. This liquid – this beautiful, wonderful potion – will choose one of those ways and convince your mind that you're living it." His lolling tongue licked his lips again. "Right now."

"Sick," Vela snapped. Her voice echoed in the cavernous room. "You're no Gerudo."

"_Shut up._" He flexed his shoulders with a sharp crack. "The best thing, though – and this, my friends, is the meat of it – is that not only do you endure the pain, but we on the outside will get to _physically see_ what you're going through. It's incredible. Magical."

Malon felt her bladder weaken ever-so-slightly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vela tremble just a tad. The Gerudo woman wasn't about to show it, though.

"You're boring us, Skellow," Vela said. "Give us some weapons and the two of us will take on the three of you. That's better sport."

Skellow laughed. "Do you think I'm a fool? Don't you see what I've done? The sheer magnitude of it? I've done what even the great Ganondorf – and countless others - failed to do. I've defeated both the Hero and the Hylian Princess. Like I said, now it's time for my reward. Oh, don't worry. It'll all be in your head. Won't be the slightest scratch on your pert little bodies."

Vela held her gaze. "You talk too much, little man."

Skellow continued, without missing a beat: "Once the first drop wears off, I can keep giving you more. The potion will choose a different torture every time. Over and over again. _Over. And over. Again." _Skellow grinned. "That's how Zelda would have occupied our marital bed, but alas…"

He uncorked the bottle, then dipped the needle in. "So," he said. "Who's first?"

Malon stepped forward. "Me."

Her entire body shook, but she'd just about had enough of her own pain and loss, and now this creature wanted her to witness the same to another person? No. She wasn't going to watch anymore.

"Oh, _bravo!_" Skellow cawed. He looked at Vela. "You see that, girl? This Hylian whore is braver than your great Gerudo courage."

Vela snarled. "Don't you dare call her that, you pig." She stepped forward as well. "Give me the whole bottle. I'll down it in one."

Skellow snorted. "You would as well, wouldn't you?" he said, voice soft.

The Gerudo man stepped towards Malon. She felt her every nerve clench in response.

_Tayer, I love you._

Skellow took another step – then lunged toward Vela and sank the needle straight into her neck.

"No!" Malon cried, but it was too late.

Vela stumbled backwards, her eyes blossoming wide. She grasped at her neck, her fingers clawing at thin air. Malon, shocked, could only watch on in helpless terror. Skellow on the other hand merely laughed, then sank back into his chair.

Four eddies of black light whirled into life in the Grand Hall. Malon watched transfixed as they began to each form a ghostly figure, all of them incredibly large, as big as oxen and with the same curled, obsidian horns protruding from their heads. They were robed in white, and hooded in black. Each carried a thick rope in their hands. Malon, confused, felt her breath vanish.

Skellow clapped his hands. "Oh, this _is_ fun!" he hooted. "If only there was a way to capture these moments for posterity."

Malon saw Vela standing with stone-like stillness, her face rigid, her eyes staring into the distance. The four dream figures flanked the Gerudo woman, two to the left, two to the right. Vela swallowed, waiting.

The air began to chop as the four figures raised their ropes and swung them around their heads. Faster and faster they went, the current screaming like a banshee, until there was nothing there but a blur of motion and a rippling of their clothes. The ropes flew, wrapping around both Vela's legs and both of her arms. Two of the dream figures shot up into the air, the other two slid outwards across the floor. They pulled, and Vela was stretched into the shape of a star, spread-eagled in mid-air.

Malon shook her head slowly in disbelieving shock. Still the Gerudo woman made no noise. Her eyes were closed, and a thin film of sweat had sprung out over her face to coat her clenched muscles.

"How fitting!" Skellow boomed. "A good old-fashioned quartering! Isn't that how we the Gerudo deal with traitors?"

Malon threw the man a disgusted look. His pupils had dilated now, and his breath was little more than a pant. He licked his lips. "_Pull!"_

Malon's hand fist shot to her mouth. Vela groaned as she was stretched in all four directions. Her gritted teeth trembled under the effort.

"_Pull!"_

Fabric tore. Something popped.

Tears streamed out the corners of Vela's closed eyes. She gasped for breath. "_Please…_"

"_Pull!"_

Malon turned away.

_How much pain can one person take?_

And then the screams began.

…

Ben had found himself a deep pool of clear water. He chewed on the edge of his thumb, wondering what to do. First, he'd been very hungry, but now his mouth and throat were _so _dry and this water seemed very appealing. He frowned, trying to remember what Da had said about how to recognise stagnant water. This pool had to be better than the brown slush on the tunnel floor, right?

He was distracted by the sight of one of those holes again. This one had a bright javelin of sunlight shooting straight through it, sprinkling the pool with rippling light. Ben decided he wanted to take a look.

The faint layer of scummy sludge beneath his feet parted as Ben made his way over to the opening. Setting one eye against the hole, he peered outside.

Cool air, still speckled with the last few droplets of rain, kissed his face. Ben felt his throat hurt. He'd seen this place before, when he'd been upstairs with Malon and the other lady. There had been that shouty man, and he'd set fire to the dead man and –

Ben shivered. The dark, charred lump was still out there, all alone. Dark flecks of ash flew in the wind. It made Ben feel sad.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Ben blinked and looked up. There! There was that noise again!

He made himself become very still. Quiet as a mouse and as immobile as an Armos statue. The only sound was his breathing. The only thing that moved were his eyes.

They saw nothing.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Ben sniffed. He pulled away from the hole and hugged himself tight. He was starting to feel colder now. Colder inside. His ears pricked up as he heard the steady drip, drip, drip of water echoing somewhere deep in the tunnel. He twitched, his nose wrinkling as it caught a metallic, musty scent. The coldness inside grew.

He suddenly realised that missed his folks, and even his little sister, though she could really annoy him sometimes. Ben felt the corners of his mouth droop. It wasn't just cold now. He was starting to feel sad. Starting to hurt. Tears pricked his eyes. He sniffed.

Ben looked at the pool. What if, he mused, he just dunked his whole head in there, like how that bully Grayzer used to do to the stable boys back home? Yes. Put his head in there, and _keep_ it there. Then the hurting would stop, right? It made _so_ much sense.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Who was making that noise?

"Hello?" he called gingerly. He heard his voice bounce off of the walls. It would've been funny if he hadn't felt so scared. "Is there someone there?"

He looked at the pool again.

_Close your eyes and dip in. It'll all stop. All the hurt will stop._

A slow smile spread over Ben's face. Feet heavy, he began to drag himself towards the water. He nodded to himself. It was hurting a lot now. The tears ran down his face. Why hadn't he thought of this before? So easy. To stop the hurting was so very easy.

_Tap. Tap. Ta-_

"Hey! Hey, Ben!"

He blinked, his mind coming back to its senses. He looked at the pool and a hurried step backwards. What had he been thinking?

Ben peered into the gloom of the tunnel.

A flicker of shadowy movement caught his eye.

There was someone in here! A girl – it had been a girl's _voice_, anyway - hiding in the shadows. She beckoned to him with a bandaged hand.

Ben wasn't stupid, though. "How do you know my name?"

A gentle laugh floated in the air. "It's alright, I'm a friend. I'm glad to see you, Ben." There was a smile in her voice that reminded him of eating apples in the orchard in warm summer with his folks. "I'm here to help you."

Ben decided that he trusted the girl. He didn't know why, but he did. All he _did _know was that a moment ago he felt cold and sad, and now he felt warm and happy. That was enough for him.

Water splashed under his shoes as he moved towards her. He couldn't see her face – or much of anything, really – since the shadows hid her so well. But as he got closer, he did notice one thing: the girl's eyes – at the very centre -were blood red.

Ben stopped short, suddenly afraid again.

"Don't worry," the girl said, as though she'd looked into his head and heard his thoughts. "Some people are different, that's all."

Ben chewed the inside of his cheek as he pondered this dutifully. Malon used to say the same thing, too, especially after he'd suffered yet another teasing session. So, it made sense.

_Malon!_

"I have a friend," Ben said quickly. "Up in the castle."

"I know."

"Are you going to help her?"

"I'll try."

"But how?"

"You'll see."

And she laughed again. Ben smiled. He felt safe with this strange girl. Buoyed by this comfort, he asked, "What are we going to do?"

The gentle laugh answered. "_We_ won't do anything. _I_ will. Follow me, Ben."

…

Malon knelt down beside Vela. The ordeal now over, the Gerudo woman had curled herself into a whimpering ball. Eyes blurred with tears, Malon wrapped her arms around Vela and held her tight for long moments just rocking her, as she would do to Ben whenever something had upset him.

Images of what she'd seen had been seared into the eye of Malon's mind. Vela torn apart, Skellow almost choking with laughter, and the _blood._ Had Malon still been a mere strip of a girl she probably would've swooned just thinking about it.

It was all gone now. The vision had ended, and the polished marble floor of the Grand Hall bore no trace of the horror that had just befallen them.

Slowly, Malon drew a trembling Vela to her feet. The Gerudo woman leaned on her for a few moments, then gently pushed herself away.

"I'm alright," she breathed. Spittle clung to her chin. "I'll be fine now."

_The light is dying,_ that's what Link had once confided to her in one his oh-so-rare visits. She'd been confused, and so he'd poured out his worries, told her about how hearts and souls were so corrupted now, saturated with selfish pleasures and stripped of anything except the slightest hint of nobility.

_Not high nobility, Link, _Malon realised._ Just simple decency._

Malon turned to face Skellow. "I hope you burn in the Pit."

The Gerudo raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you will first. It all depends on the whims of the potion, doesn't it, hmm?"

"No fantasy of yours can compare to the pain I already endure."

Skellow placed his palm on chest and fluttered his eyebrows theatrically. "Oh, how my heart weeps for you." His tone turned ugly. "Grow up! This is life! Stop your whining and take your place – you either use others as your pawn, or you become a pawn yourself. _That_ is the world as it's presented to us, so accept it or perish."

Malon glared, her mouth a thin, hard line.

"Nothing to say? Good." He held the needle up so that it caught a glimmer of the sunlight streaming in through the Hall's large windows. "So. Your turn." He frowned, then leaned forward to peer at her. "Say," he said. "Who are you again?"

And that was the moment when a soft voice rang out in the Grand Hall.

"I spy with my little eye, someone who's about to _die._"

Skellow leapt from his chair and twirled around. The Gerudo and his guards looked this way and that in bewildered confusion. "Who's that?" he barked. His heel scraped against the floor as he twisted and turned trying to find the source of the voice. "Who's there?"

Malon frowned, equally puzzled. The voice had been female, she was certain. Female, and just a little…

A figure stepped out of the shadows just beside the far wall. Skellow froze, head turning slowly to greet the newcomer.

Clad in midnight blue, with the top of her head and the bottom half of her face covered in rags, Malon recognised the young girl with the scarlet eyes instantly. But it couldn't be…

_Sheik?_

Skellow held out his hands, gesturing for his guards to be wary. He cleared his throat, then peered curiously at the girl. "Who are you?" he said. "A castle boy…? No…" – he squinted – "castle _girl_." His shoulders sagged as the tension flowed out of them. Relaxed, Skellow licked his lips. "State your business."

The girl held up a bow in response. She seemed to be aiming it. Skellow frowned; Malon did, too – the string was empty, and the girl seemed to be carrying no other arrows.

"Do you remember?" the young girl said in her gentle voice. "Remember what you said, Skellow? That you would die at the hands of the Chosen One of the Vor Shahal?"

Skellow's cheek twitched. "Why?" he snapped. "What of it?"

Crimson eyes narrowed. "Boo."

An arrow of pure light flashed into life on the string of the girl's bow. Before anyone had a chance to react, the arrow flew, streaking across the room, a trail of pure radiance in its wake.

It burned straight through Skellow's left eye.

The Gerudo's neck snapped backward, and his mouth opened wide in a soundless scream. His body jerked in violent spasms as pure, naked light ran down the entire length of it, illuminating every bone, nerve and sinew. Arms flung out, face twisted in agony, Skellow stood for a moment engulfed in a golden glow. Then, slowly, his head dissolved, followed quickly by his neck, chest, arms, and legs. All that remained was a heap of blackened ash marking the spot where he'd last stood.

Stunned out of their shocked inaction, the two Gerudo guards lunged – but the girl was too quick, _incredibly _quick, moving in a blur. She leapt diagonally, kicked off of the wall, somersaulted over the first guard's head, then _slid_ under the second's outstretched legs.

Springing back upright, the girl holstered her bow, grabbed both Vela and Malon by their wrists, then yanked. "Run!"

They did, Malon and Vela taking the lead, the girl dropping behind.

_What was that?_ Malon's thoughts were screaming in her head. _What in the world just happened?_

She snuck a glance behind her. The young girl leapt again, twisting in mid-air, bow flying free and setting off a second light arrow, then a third. The first guard took it in the chest, and the second through the head, his sword spinning out of his hand and skating across the floor toward them. Vela paused momentarily to scoop the blade from the ground.

"This way!" the girl cried, pointing to a small door set in the Hall's left flank. She pushed it open easily – revealing a tiny antechamber beyond – then pushed it shut after Malon and Vela entered.

The young girl leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily. She was chuckling, a high, almost hysterical laugh. She stared at her hands and flexed her fingers.

"Fast…" she gasped. Another high-pitched giggle floated from her lips. "I was too fast for them."

Malon and Vela exchanged looks. The Gerudo woman shrugged imperceptibly. Malon took a closer look at the young girl closely. She certainly sounded a little like the princess. But her bearing and demeanour – her whole body and stature, in fact – was that of a much younger woman. One not quite in possession of all of her faculties, if Malon did say so herself.

The girl slapped one of the stone slabs in the wall. Dust puffed from the impact, then, with a hollow growl, the slab popped inside and slid apart. A cobweb coated hole remained.

Malon blinked, confused.

Something shuffled inside.

Malon glanced at Vela, saw the Gerudo woman grip her sword tightly.

An oval face appeared in the opening. Malon gasped.

"Ben!" She rushed to the hole, then dragged the boy out, engulfing him in a fierce hug. "Ben – are you hurt? Is anything broken?"

Ben, clearly happy if a little embarrassed, pulled himself free. "I'm fine! Really!"

"How did you get in _there_?"

Ben pointed at the young girl. He was beaming. "She helped me."

The girl held a smile in her eyes. "Tunnels inside the castle, would you believe it?" She laughed. "They lead everywhere. More importantly, we can use them to lead us _out_." She giggled. "It'd be rude not to."

Malon licked her lips in uncertain caution. "Zelda?" she said. "Is that you?" Not entirely knowing why, she reached out to touch the bandages wrapped around the girl's face.

"No! Don't touch me!" The girl snapped her head back, as though she'd just been slapped. Still breathing heavily, she stared at Malon with those eerie red eyes.

Malon swallowed. This was bizarre. Utterly bizarre. "Zelda," she said, voice soothing. "We need to know what happened."

The girl blinked. "I…I remember…remember looking straight at the crossbow. Heard it crack. And the pain…" – her face twisted – "...oh, the pain."

"It's alright," Malon cooed. She wanted to reach out, but she didn't dare touch the girl now. "You're alright now. What then?"

The girl nodded. "Then…there was nothing. I heard myself breathing. And heard my heart. Beating. It was just slower, that's all. I knew I wasn't dead. Then a voice came. A voice that said…" The words trailed away and her eyes seemed to turn inward.

Vela cocked her head to the side. "Said what?"

The girl blinked again. "It said…_'The Vor Shahal have chosen you, Sheik of the Sheikah_.'" Her eyelids fluttered. "Then I woke up in the tunnel with this bow and looking like this…"She pulled away from the wall, her steps unsteady. "I…"

Malon frowned. "Zelda…?" she said softly. "Are you…?"

Sheik stumbled. "I feel so…so strange…"

Her eyes rolled up and her body went suddenly limp.

"Zelda!"

Vela and Malon leapt forward, catching the girl as she tumbled to the ground.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Jon Skysmith, leader of the Ruination, kicked at the small pile of ash. He didn't like this. Not one bit.

"You're sure?" he said, watching the particles of grit rain back down onto the marble floor. "It's the Gerudo?"

Willowreed rubbed a bit of the ash between her forefinger and thumb, then brought it to the nib of her tongue. She winced at the taste.

"It's him, Jon," she said. "It's Skellow. Crispy fried, with the distinct flavour of his pathetic fear."

Skysmith let out a breath and shook his head. "Bizarre. How could this have happened?"

"Who cares?" Macabre growled. He cracked the knuckles on each hand. "We've get our money. Let's go."

"No."

Willowreed looked up sharply. "Jon. Be reasonable."

Skysmith's boots spat out a staccato beat as he walked slowly around Skellow's remains. He spied another two piles of ash in the distance. He gestured. "The Gerudo guards?"

The Zora woman nodded. "Most likely."

Macabre stretched his arms and yawned. "Come _on. _I haven't been in Castleton for years. I've heard they've upgraded the brothels tenfold since I've been here last. I've got the coin now and," he licked his lips, "I got the taste."

Willowreed's dark eyes glittered. "You really are a pathetic husk of a man, aren't you?"

The Goron merely laughed. "Don't get all jealous now, fish cake. You had your chance. You didn't take it."

"I could break you like a twig, fat man."

"Shut up, both of you!" Skysmith snarled. He waited until the echo of his voice had faded. "This is important. Two women and a boy cannot have caused this much damage."

"Not our problem," Macabre replied, flicking at the dirt under his yellowed nails. "The Gerudo probably set himself alight with that fire liquid he has." He twitched. "_Had._"

Skysmith shook his head. "We were paid to find the women and the boy."

"And we did, Jon," Willowreed replied. "Well, we found the women."

The Hylian gave her a level look. "And they escaped."

Macabre snorted. "So?"

"So." Skysmith looked from the Zora to the Goron. "So, don't you get it? Can't you see? We now have three people out there who can say to the world: 'We mer the Ruination and survived." He let the words hang in the air. "Is that what either of you want?"

When silence greeted him in response, Jon Skysmith merely smiled. He knew them too well. "Split up. Find them. Bring them back here. We'll kill them together - even the child - and _then _we'll spend our coin."

…

Cold, dank tunnel water seeped into Malon's thick boots. She wiggled her toes, then grimaced. It was as bad as the foul smelling pig slop back at the ranch that got into her nails and – somehow – her hair. Could've been worse, though. She might have come to the castle in her lengthy farm skirt instead of her more practical travel wear. Then she'd have been in a bit more bother.

The tunnel was long and they all walked at a slow pace. They had to, since a barely conscious Sheik had to lean on Vela for support.

_Sheik_. Malon had seen the Sheikah warrior only once, in that other time and place where Ganondorf had ravaged the entire world. Sheik had come to check on her, to speak honey-lacquered words, telling her to be patient and have faith, because the Hero of Time would be coming soon and all their sorrows would be over. Then, she'd mistaken him for a young man. It was only later that she'd discovered that Sheik had been Zelda all along.

_Or has Zelda been Sheik all along?_

She frowned. The young girl's skin – as much as Malon could see of it – had a feverish tint to it. Her scarlet eyes were half-closed, and she seemed content to mutter nonsensical words.

Sheik stumbled. "Oops," she slurred. "That was a bit of a wibble-wobble. Ha _haaaa…_"

Malon turned to Vela. "What's wrong with her? Do you know?"

"I have some idea."

"Share, then."

"The Vor Shahal," the Gerudo replied, straining. "They have a rare healing talent. I've only seen it used once. Never realised they could use it at such a distance."

"The what wha-hal?" She'd heard the name enough times now that she just had to know.

Chestnut eyes regarded her coolly. "_Vor Shahal. _The Lost Tribe of the Sheikah."

"Oh." Malon had a head to her filled with fierce curiosity. In this case, though, she decided to let it be and not ask. Instead, she said, "Is that why they healed her…like this? Turned her into a Sheikah?"

Vela shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, but I think you've probably got the meat of it."

Water sloshed as they kept moving. The tunnel stretched away into the murky distance. Where it led, none of them knew. Sheik had been certain that it would lead them out – but had they been right to take her word for it?

Malon saw Ben watching them with a curious detachment. He seemed to be different somehow, she mused. A little calmer and more self-assured. As though he'd peered into the depths, hadn't liked what he'd seen, and had instead decided to be content with his lot in life.

_Heavy thoughts for a little one like him._

But, then, she realised with an inward sigh, these were heavy times. She turned her attention again to Vela. "Go on, then," she said. "You didn't explain why Zelda's all burning up and mind-addled?"

"I think," Vela replied, straining as she shifted Sheik's weight across her shoulders, "I think the trauma has shaken her. The shock of it. What with what happened to Link, and taking a crossbow in the face. And now this – practically a new body. Her mind's still catching up. She'll probably settle soon, but…" She shook her head.

"You don't think we have that much time?"

Wide eyes filled with concern acknowledged Malon's words. "The Ruination are still out there."

Before Malon could say anything in response, Sheik suddenly became alert, pushing away from Vela, eyes flying fully open. They all watched in bemused unison as the young girl took a few steps forward, paused, then spun on her heel and strode back.

"Wait," Sheik said. "Do you hear that? It smells familiar."

Malon's brow creased. Was her old friend's mind slipping away?

Sheik lifted a boot, then brought it down hard on the floor. A steel panel beneath burst open. The tunnel's shallow water current began to trickle downwards through the new opening.

Sheik's eyes twinkled. "Come on!"

Malon gave Vela a wary glance. The Gerudo raised her hands in puzzlement. Sheik had already made her way, and even Ben was sitting on the edge of the hole, feet dangling. Malon shook her head, then gestured for Vela to follow.

They dropped down, landing softly on the plush carpet below. Murky water spattered their heads from above. A torch spat and sputtered in its sconce, casting flickering light upon a pair of thick double doors. Vela was the first to stand.

The Gerudo frowned. "There's no way in," she said, her eyes searching the doors. "No handle. Not even a lock."

Sheik pushed past her. She stared at the door, standing so still she could have passed for a statue.

Malon eyed the young girl. "Sheik?"

"I can open it," she replied.

"How?" Malon's voice was soft and patient. "There aren't any-"

She ran her hand across the adjacent wall, her probing fingers gaining a chalk-white coating as she did so. One of the slabs gave with a puff of dust. Sheik slid her hand in through the new opening. "My father had it designed just _so –_" She pulled at something hidden inside. A low metallic growl followed, punctuated by a dull _clunk. _The doors whirred slowly open, and a gust of musty air buffeted out.

Malon slowly followed Sheik and the others in, gazing at the candlelight that seem to swim in the room. She wondered who could spare the hours to keep each candle lit. Waste of time. Didn't have the luxury for all that back at the ranch, that's for sure.

Her eyes were drawn to the centre of the room. Malon's heart skipped a beat. A single bed stood there, and upon it, breathing slowly yet steadily, there slept King Harkinian. His body was frail, and his skin weathered and cast with a yellow tan. Strands of withered grey hair curtained his face.

Malon swallowed, awe holding her back from approaching any further. She wondered what the proper manners were for a subject in the presence of her ailing king. A curtsy, even though liege was in absentia, maybe?

Sheik had already knelt down beside the bed. The young girl placed her fingers upon the king's brow. Strange words began to flow from her lips, gibberish words in a language Malon couldn't recognise at all. She glanced at Vela who could only shrug in response, equally confused.

Sheik moved in close to the king's ear, her voice a faint whisper. "I love you."

Her bandaged lips kissed him gently on the brow, then she stood suddenly and looked down. The king's chest rose and fell with rhythmic regularity. Nothing changed for a moment, then –

Malon gasped. The king, _her_ king, the one who had lain here sick for so many, many years began, ever-so-slightly, to stir. His eyelids fluttered.

Malon stood transfixed, but Sheik didn't wait, gesturing for them all to make for the door again. She closed the door shut behind them as they left.

Malon stared at Sheik. "We're just going to leave him there?"

The young girl looked up. "He'll be safer in there," she replied. "He knows the way out. And they can't get in." As though sensing their questions, she continued, "Hyrule needs a ruler."

Vela cocked her head to the side. "Not you?"

"No. Not me."

Muffled voices began to murmur from behind the door – one weak and straining, the other a yelp of surprise.

_Must be another door in there, _Malon thought. _An attendant, probably, or a maid. Girl just got the shock of her life, no doubts there._

Sheik started to move, but the Gerudo woman stepped in front of her. "Wait. How did you do that? Even the Gerudo know that your father was on his death bed."

"I –I –" Sheik's eyes darted in panic. "I don't know. Images just came to my head. I just _knew_ what to say. What to do."

A tiny whisper of hope welled up inside of Malon's heart. She stepped up to the girl as well. Malon wondered how all this looked – two adult women crowding out a young girl. But she _had _to know…

"Zelda," she said. "Could you do it again? What you just did? Could you heal someone again?"

"N-No," Sheik replied, shaking her head. "It's gone now."

The hope burst. Malon didn't want to let go, though. She licked her lips. "If the Vor Shahal brought you back, couldn't they bring Link back, too?"

Sheik looked at her with wide crimson eyes. "He's gone."

Malon's heart twisted. The heavy finality of Sheik's words rang in her ears. She even saw Vela wince. Malon sighed, then stepped back. Sheik hadn't finished, though.

"My father and I, we weren't dead, not really, but Link…" Sheik's eyes turned inward. Her voice softened, her tone contemplative; she seemed as though she were in a trance. "Link's become one with the Soul of Courage now. But…all spirits fly free when their bodies die, don't they? To take their eternal place. Link… I don't know why, but his spirit needs a little push."

Malon shared a glance with Vela again. She felt uncomfortable for her old friend Zelda. To descend into madness like this, and with a Gerudo watching as well. It wasn't on. Wasn't on at all. She reached out beside her and squeezed Ben's shoulder. Whether it was for his comfort or hers, she couldn't quite tell.

Sheik's posture snapped back into sharp alertness for a heartbeat. "Link died trying to rescue me," she said. "I have to…help…" She began to lean to one side, eyes rolling. "Help him…"

Vela swooped in to catch the girl as she slumped to the ground. The Gerudo looked up, face tight. "This is ridiculous," she spat. "We need to find a window. We're leaving."

Malon's eyebrows shot up. "What? We're just going to throw ourselves out?"

"There's a moat below," Vela replied. "We'll land safely."

"Depends how high up we are, I'd wager," Malon murmured.

Ben glanced up at her. "Don't worry. I'm not afraid."

Malon pursed her lips. "Just me, then." She took in a deep breath. "Well, since we've all gone and taken insanity on as a mount, let's not dawdle, shall we? Might as well go all the way." Her voice dropped. "Might be we'll all grow wings and fly away as well."

Vela grinned, dragging Sheik as they both followed Malon and Ben. The ranch woman strode down the sloping passageway, eyes alert, and testing every door she came upon. The first was locked, the knob rattling in her hand, as was the second. The third opened with a small click. She peered inside.

Empty.

That brought another frown to her face. Where was everyone…?

Malon didn't have the time to chase the thought. She made her way to the room's single window and took a peek. Sure enough, the castle moat swirled slowly beneath them. Thankfully, they weren't that far up. Night was approaching now, the sky stained with the dark ink of twilight. It'd be cold down there.

She felt Vela and the others come to stand beside her. Malon reached down and took Ben in one arm. "Hold tight."

The grim-faced little boy nodded back at her. Malon glanced at Vela. The Gerudo nodded in turn.

With a deep breath, Malon used her other arm to grab the wall and hoist herself onto the stone sill. The wind began to twine her hair through cold, unseen fingers. She felt Ben's warmth against her chest, took another deep breath, then wrapped him securely in both arms. She stepped out into the air.

They plummeted like a stone, spinning in the void, both desperately clutching onto the other. The wind screamed in their ears. They would've screamed, too, but they could barely catch their breath to do so.

Ice cold shock slammed through the entirety of Malon's body as she splashed into the water. Darkness engulfed her. Thick liquid clogged up her nose and mouth, and she felt herself sinking, sinking…

She kicked. Her eyes opened and Malon saw the blurry outline of the castle above. Still clinging to the boy, she kicked again, her face pointed straight up. They broke the surface and both gasped. Malon's coughs were rough and raw, and her eyes stung something fierce. Ben, hair plastered to his head and water droplets clinging to his lashes, still held on to her tight. He smiled when her eyes searched out his.

"We made it," he croaked.

Malon smiled back. "That we did."

Another tremendous splash made them both look up. A stream of bubbles marked the impact, then Vela swooped gracefully up and out of the murk, Sheik still in her arms. Malon nodded at the woman, then looked out towards the horizon.

The flickering lights of Castleton beckoned.

…

Jon Skysmith hadn't found the women or the boy. That didn't bother him that much. The inevitably of their capture was assured. No one escaped the Ruination. He had found something else, though. Something unexpected.

He'd assumed that the castle folk had either fled or hidden in their chambers when the mercenary army had slaughtered the Royal Guard. He'd been wrong. Skysmith felt his cheek twitch. He didn't like being wrong.

Skysmith stepped further into the castle's refectory. This was the large room where the servants and scullions came to sup. A single obsidian pillar stood in the centre, surrounded by rows upon rows of hard, plain wooden benches. At another time, Skysmith would've approved. It showed that the castle folk weren't soft. Now, though…

He stopped. There wasn't any more room to move anyhow. The wooden floor was full, the benches all piled high. Something was dripping somewhere in the room.

The castle folk were dead.

Whether every single one of them was here in this room, Jon Skysmith neither knew nor cared. What did catch his eye was the manner of their demise. Men and women, faces rigid with shock and pain, each seemed to have found themselves whatever sharp object they could lay their hands on and had either buried it deep into their chest or slashed at their own necks and wrists.

Bizarre. Utterly bizarre.

_But interesting, _Skysmith thought as he stroked his chin. _Very, very interesting._

**A/N: ** Now that you're all thoroughly traumatised by the events of the last few chapters, I'm going to take a little break and update a little more slowly now.

Many thanks to everyone who's left a review. I do read and appreciate every one of them, even if I don't get to reply to each one.

Split


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Sheik woke to find herself in a small bed, a soft pillow beneath her head, and a battered and stained lamp smouldering on a petite table nearby. The window was open and sounds of merriment, laughter and just plain ordinary conversation wafted in, entwined with the scent of baked bread and charcoaled meat.

Her stomach growled in response. When had she eaten last?

Movement made Sheik's eyes flicker to the left. A mouse stood there on her pillow, whiskers twitching as it chewed on the end of her bandages.

Sheik's eyes narrowed. "Do you mind?"

The mouse stared back balefully.

Sheik kicked aside the blankets and slid out of the bed. The cold, wooden floor kissed the soles of her feet, so she paused to pull on her boots – someone had kindly left them with her bow at the foot of her bed – and then stood up.

She glanced at the window again. The moon had shrunk to a sliver, barely able to cast any light. She could hear a murmur of voices coming from the floor below. She recognised one as Malon's.

Vaguely, Sheik recalled a hotchpotch of blurred memories: of being carried, her head bouncing up and down, of the ranch woman arguing for this particular inn because it looked homely and seemed to be small and relatively empty, and the other woman initially protesting ferociously, then just rolling her eyes and giving up .

For some reason all that made her smile.

Arms outstretched, Sheik spun on the spot, around and around, laughing softly. Her heart felt light.

New.

Refreshed.

She didn't want to remember her old existence anymore. Princess Zelda's life had been hard, with difficult decisions – sometimes wrong – and it had been filled, too, with sorrow, regret and hurt. Especially at the end.

Princess Zelda was gone.

She was just Sheik now. Chosen of the Vor Shahal.

_Chosen for what, though, hmm?_

She ignored her thoughts and looked around. There was another bed in the sparse chamber, one smaller than hers. Ben lay there, wrapped tight and snug in thick woollen blankets, his face a picture of peace. He snored softly. The sight of him gladdened Sheik's heart.

A full length mirror, framed in brass and flecked with dark strains, stood resting against one wall. She approached it. The Vor Shahal had clearly taken her for her word. Princess Zelda had complained about being old and they'd gone and halved her age. She was, what, fifteen now? Sixteen?

How odd.

Nice. But odd.

Oh, how the high-born ladies back at the castle would howl if they could see her now. They'd have killed for the secret of her new-found youth. Shame it had involved staring down the shaft of a crossbow bolt. And the intervention of some sort of mystical tribe that had hitherto paid scant attention to her life.

They were awfully literal, too, these mysterious Sheikah. She glanced over at her bow. Light arrows made out of actual light. She smiled. Fancy that.

Sheik turned back to the mirror. Her eyes focused in on the rags wrapped around the lower half of her face. A twist of unease bit her gut. She took in a deep breath.

Sheik would have to change those soon. She certainly wasn't looking forward to it. She'd do it with her eyes closed, she was sure. Sheik didn't know what lay beneath, but she did know that her flesh there felt numb and…odd. As though her face still carried the residue of Skellow's arrow piercing skin, shattering bone and –

Sheik shook her head. No. She wasn't going to revisit those memories. Not of the crossbow, not of what she'd witnessed moments earlier.

_Link._

She shook her head again. The only thing she could focus on when she thought about him were the images she'd seen – courtesy of the Lost, no doubt – of Link's spirit, ethereal in form, as it was crowned the Soul of Courage. It had soared up, up, up, a dazzling blur of golden light. Then, suddenly, it had stopped short. Held back, as though he couldn't quite break through.

Sheik felt the muscles in her hand clench.

She'd find a way to help him. She didn't know how, but she would.

That's all Sheik needed to know about Link. She didn't need to return to his last moments. She didn't need to pay attention to the tempest of emotions that swirled in her heart at her mind's mention of his name.

Memories further back were just as unsettling: her iron hand in ruling Hyrule, her utter loneliness…

_Impa._

Sheik let her thoughts go. No memory would ripple the tranquil serenity of her mind now. She wouldn't let them.

Sheik made her way to the window and leaned out, her arms dangling with casual ease. The cool breeze tickled her skin. Looking down, she found that they were situated in a narrow, leafy street, not too far from a thoroughfare where there seemed to be a lot of merrymaking going on. Laughter and the lilting tune of an accordion floated up to her. She pushed away a stray strand of her hair from her eyes.

Her attention was drawn to the people walking the street below. A man roared with rage as a little urchin tore his jingling pouch from his belt and bolted down the cobbled path. People raised their heads, but no one lifted a finger. A scolding wife followed her husband; he remained darkly silent, his fist shaking and ready to strike. In the shadows she spied a young man with furtive glances speaking in hushed tones to a woman with an elaborately painted face and a bodice far too tight for polite society. Fear laced the woman's eyes. Fear mixed with greed as the young man started counting rupees in one hand.

Sheik watched the people make their choices and passed no inner comment or judgement. It wasn't the Vor Shahal way to do so. How she knew this wasn't clear, but she _did_ know it, that was for sure.

Her bandages fluttered as she let out a breath.

No. More. Thinking.

Time to _do_, instead.

Sheik dived back into the room to pick up her bow. Briefly she considered telling Malon that she was going out, then decided against it. She wasn't planning on being gone too long. The ranch woman wouldn't even notice her absence.

She holstered her bow and looked up. Old instincts took over, skills that she'd learned in another time, those seven years of hardship under Ganondorf's black rule. They'd lain dormant all this time, resurfacing just as her memories had returned.

Taking a running start, Sheik dove out of the window, swooping with arms outstretched, then somersaulted once and landed in a crouch.

Some of the passersby looked up, startled. She stared at them in turn with her scarlet eyes, forcing them to hurriedly avert their gaze. Princess Zelda would have had herself a quietly controlled and very polite fit at the prospect of revealing herself to the people like this. Sheik didn't care. Skellow was dead – who would be looking for her now?

Sheik followed the narrow road down to the main thoroughfare. There she stopped, staring.

The street was bustling with life, and not all of it too savoury, either. Music fluted in the air, winding its way through the general chatter, itself only punctuated by sudden cries of joy and shouts that indicated at something else entirely.

Wide-eyed men and women, huddling against the chill night air, inhaled curling strands of smoke from bowls of blackened herbs perched upon a brazier laden with glowing coals. They shuffled forward like ReDeads, necks bent.

Lanterns shone in a myriad gaudy colours – red, orange, even indigo, and the just plain strange: brown light, and the rare black. Some of the lamps would change colour – red to green to blue – in a hypnotic rhythm that made Sheik's head hurt.

Sheik walked, and as she did so, she took notice. All the shops were marked here, the hasty carvings signalling the services within pretty clearly. Here, painted ladies milled outside a building baring the crude carving of a slender woman; there, laughing young men with tinkling bags of coin entered a seedy looking store with blacked out windows; a painting on the door depicted two blood-soaked cuccos, each tearing at the other's throat.

There were men dressed in nothing but silk feathers, each wearing a porcelain white mask slashed with a grotesque smile in ruby red. There were Hylian women who had dyed their hair crimson and tanned their skin dark to make them look Gerudo. There were street urchins whose eyes held a feral look to them, watching, waiting.

Sheik walked. Princess Zelda had loved this city. Sheik, on the other hand, made no judgement. People pushed past her, bumping her from side to side. They barely gave her a second look. She was, to them, just another oddity in a whole street full of them.

A little boy caught her eye. Alone, he stood forlorn in the shadows between two buildings, his face streaked with tears. He was rubbing his eyes red.

This one Sheik wouldn't ignore.

"Psst!" she called.

The boy glanced up. He looked to his left, then to his right. He didn't see her.

Weaving her way through the seething mass of life, Sheik made her way over to him. "Hello!" she said cheerily. "Whatever is the matter?"

The boy stepped forward and sniffed. "Who are you?" His face scrunched up in suspicion. "What do you want?"

"I'm Sheik," she replied. "I'm here to help, I think." No one was paying attention to either of them and that suited her just fine. She leaned down, her hands on her knees. "And you are…?"

Another face popped out of the shadows, a little girl this time, hanging upside down from a rusted steel ladder set half-way up one wall.

"He's six," she announced. "And I'm nine."

Sheik drew upright and folded her arms. "Nice to meet you, six and nine. Those are terrible names."

"_No."_ The girl rolled her eyes. "That's how old we are. Call him Bobble-Head. And I'm Esmeralda-Zelda Kinclaine."

"Bobble-Head and Esmeralda-Zelda," Sheik repeated. "Named after the princess, I suppose?"

The little boy scowled. "My name isn't Bobble-Head," he protested, his tears forgotten. "It's Mat Kinclaine."

Sheik smiled. "A fine name. Better than six. Or Bobble-Head, come to think of it."

"Yep," Esmeralda cut in. A curtain of brown hair hung upside-down from her head. "Named after the princess. Have you heard? Princess Zelda is dead and King Harkinian is awake. He's sad, though."

Sheik felt her heart flutter. "Sad? Why?"

"_Because,_" the little girl replied, chin out in an imitation of adult long-sufferance, "Almost everyone in the castle has been killed. And they can't find Princess Zelda's body."

"I see." A thought touched Sheik's mind. "When did the king awaken?"

Esmeralda's face wrinkled as she thought. "Mmm…three days ago, I think."

"Three days," Sheik repeated, voice soft. "I've been asleep that long."

The little girl laughed. "No one can sleep that long! Aren't you hungry?"

Sheik's stomach rumbled. "I think I am."

Esmeralda placed her palms flat against the wall, released her legs from the ladder, then swung herself down. She sniffed, brushed specks of wet dirt from her wrinkled clothes, then rummaged inside a pouch hanging from her belt. After another moment, she pulled free a ruffled looking bread roll and handed it over to Sheik.

"Thank you. You're awfully kind." Sheik bit into the roll, closed her eyes momentarily as she savoured the stale taste, then turned to the boy. "Why were you crying, Mat?"

The little boy's eyes began to water again. "It's my friend, Gibb. He's gone. We were walking down Bat's Course together, just as you do, like. Then someone jumped out and grabbed him. I shouted and shouted but no one would listen." His voice hitched at the memory. "I think Steely Jay's got him."

Sheik took another bite. "Steely Jay?"

Esmeralda rolled her eyes. _"Everyone_ knows Steely Jay. Don't you live here in the Pariah District?"

"I'm new here, sorry," Sheik replied. "Why does everyone know Steely Jay?"

"_Because_,"the little girl replied, "of the orphans. And the urchins. Anyone little, really, if they've got no-one else. He's always looking for us. He has been for months. He'll get all of us one day. No point getting upset 'bout it. Only Bobble-Heads would do that."

Sheik thought that Esmeralda didn't seem very bothered at the prospect of being kidnapped, but little Mat was clearly very upset. "Why does he want orphans?"

Mat shrugged, sniffling. "Don't know. No one ever sees them again."

Sheik finished off the roll, then wiped her hands free of crumbs. "Do you know what Steely Jay looks like?"

Esmeralda nodded, then gave her an odd look. "Why?" she asked. "Do you have a plan?"

Sheik's reply was soft. "I'm thinking of one."

The background noise of the thoroughfare faded to a buzzing murmur. Lamps shining with all the colours of the world cast a shimmering ever-changing hue over the street. Sheik stood, the rags around her face and head fluttering in the night breeze. Mat looked at Esmeralda. Esmeralda looked at Sheik.

The little girl bit her lower lip. "Have you thought of it yet?"

Behind her bandages, Sheik smiled.

…

Sheik shuffled forward in the line, huddled amongst the mass of dirty and unwashed bodies. She'd left the two children behind two hours ago, having got the information she'd needed, and had made her way here where the poor and downtrodden waited in turn to be given a bowl of slop from the Draw Brothers of the Noble Order of the Axiom.

A temple, Sheik noted, that had devoted its life to following the life and precepts of the Legendary Hero. It was strange, that. What Link and she had done in the other time had been gently lifted from people's minds, yet a trace of his memory still remained in the unconscious mind of the populace.

She wondered what Link would have made of that.

She decided not to wonder too long.

The line shifted an inch forward. At the queue's head, the Draw Brothers – dressed in forest green, wouldn't you know it - stood patiently as they dipped wooden ladles into steaming cauldrons caked with fat and grease.

Mat and Esmeralda had told her that Steely Jay liked to frequent this particular place in search of children. Sheik glanced around, noticing that there were a fair amount of youngsters here, some about the same age as her two new friends. She'd agreed to meet them both again later in the night, back at the same spot. She hoped she'd have some good news for them.

Anxiety prickled her heart. When she'd taken down Skellow it had been through pure instinct that had ridden the tide of joy she'd felt at still being alive and whole. That, and being driven with the absolute conviction that it was her and alone that would end the Gerudo's life. This was a different matter entirely. Now she had time to think and ponder, and doing so made her nervous.

She was the Chosen One, she was the one that had to take Link's place in the grand scheme of things. And now she wasn't entirely sure if she was up to it.

_What would Link do?_

A deep sigh fell from her lips. She'd tried hard not to think about him, but it was no use. She was following in his footsteps, after all.

A man in a brown cloak lined with silver caught her eye.

_Steely Jay._

Long hair framed his thin face, and the man scanned the crowd with an expert eye. He frowned, and scratched the stubble resting on his chin.

Sheik waited.

Patience. Patience was what she needed. Patience in dealing with Jay, in dealing with the Sorrow, and in finding a way to help Link. She couldn't just rush in. That's what Link had done. That's what had got him killed.

Her heart wrenched, and she had to wait to let the feeling pass. She looked up.

Steely Jay stood with hands clasped behind his back. He shook his head and turned away. Clearly no-one was worthy this night.

Sheik peeled away from the crowd and followed. The night was still young – it seemed to be just a notch past midnight – and the man strode down the still-busy streets, cloak streaming behind him. People parted for him, and he himself had the bearing of someone who knew his own importance.

Sheik glided from shadow to shadow. Squat buildings, trundling delivery carts, and the sheer mass of other people kept her hidden. Her heart thudded. The sweet-and-sour taste of anticipation coated her tongue.

Steely Jay twisted and turned down the winding streets of the Pariah District. The crowds started to recede now, and Sheik knew she'd start to stick out soon. Glancing down an alley she found another one of those corroded ladders clinging to one of the buildings. Clearly an access way of some kind. The ladder shook and swayed dangerously as she climbed it, but it held.

She was on the roof now. Smoke curled lazily across the night sky up here. Looking ahead, she saw that the gaps between each building were small and manageable. She glanced over the edge, spotted her target, then continued her pursuit.

Steely Jay stopped beside the door of an old, large, but dilapidated store house. It appeared to be empty. He looked around cautiously, then procured a key from his cloak. Metal _clinked_ and _thunked_ as the door came unlocked. He slipped inside.

Sheik counted. First to twenty. Then to fifty.

Then, arms aloft, she took another running jump, gliding through the air, her heart soaring. She landed with a crunch on the store house's gravelly roof. Sheik glanced over the edge. A small, dark window – oblong in shape - greeted her. It was open.

Sheik slid inside head-first. She found herself pressed in from above and below in a narrow metal passageway. Access for air, she realised. She pulled her away further in, the warm musty scent making her nose wrinkle. Light shone in from another opening up ahead. Light, and the sound of voices.

She reached the opening and took a peek. A large chamber filled with activity spread out below her. Steely Jay stood in the centre, his face twisted as he barked out orders. Some of the other men snapped to attention. Others lounged lazily in chairs, feet up on wooden tables as they played a game of chance, or cheered at someone throwing darts. There were a few women, too, but they spent their time playfully slapping away any male advances, all the while sat in a man's lap, arms wrapped around his neck.

On the far side, Sheik saw the children chained to the wall. Stripped to the waist they hung from their arms, faces despondent. Placards had been placed around their necks: twenty-thousand rupees said one, thirty-two thousand on another.

Slavers, then. Sheik took in this information with a curious sense of detachment she instinctively knew was the Vor Shahal way. Her mind did wonder, though: why would anyone in Castleton purchase children…?

She closed her eyes. Go down that way, and you'd stare straight into the abyss.

Sheik pondered. She and her bow could take out all the men just from up here, for sure. That was the _wise_ thing to do. That was what Princess Zelda would have done.

Giddiness made Sheik's heart expand and her head spin. Easy, everything had been so _easy_. Why should she skulk here in the shadows? She could go down and challenge them face-to-face. Heroic tales had been Princess Zelda's sole outlet for relief, in those times she'd locked herself away in her room in the castle when the world of politics had overwhelmed her. She'd loved reading those stories, about overcoming all odds, sprinkled with some appropriately snappy words that would strike fear and awe in the hearts of all and sundry.

Sheik smiled. Yes, that was it. She needed something to say something smart and daring to show just who was in charge here, and how this would all end. She'd done it with Skellow, she could do it here.

Sheik rolled out of the opening and dropped to the ground.

All noise ceased in the great chamber. Every single person turned to face Sheik. She stood upright and pointed.

"Gentlemen," she said, her voice carrying only the slightest tremor. "Your evening of unabashed hijinks is now over."

Steely Jay scowled in utter befuddlement. "_What?_"

Sheik withdrew her finger. "Um."

Jay gestured in a dismissive fashion. "Kill her."

_Ohhhh dear._

Chairs scraped and tables were flung aside as the slavers moved as one. Sheik, eyes wide, leapt into the air.

_Fool! What did I say about not rushing in?_

Panic shot through her mind. The men were bigger and stronger than her, but the Vor Shahal – somehow – had gifted her with immense speed. She just couldn't let the slavers get a hold of her. If they did, she'd be dead.

Pirouetting off of a wall, Sheik withdrew her bow and began shooting. Bolts of pure light sizzled through tunic and flesh. Groans and snarls hung in the air. She landed, and rough hands grasped for her, fingers curling around her arms and ankles.

_No!_

With a howl, she began scratching at the men with her free hand. She elbowed one, tore at another.

_Breathe! Stay calm!_

Sheik threw herself into a backflip. Another yell followed and she raised her bow, eyes tracking and targeting, her arm jerking ferociously from side to side, letting loose burning fire, over and over and over again.

_I'm not going to fall like Link. I'm not, I'm not, I'm –_

Sheik blinked and lowered her bow. Steam rose from the myriad piles of ash littering the entire chamber. Steely Jaw – the last man standing – cowered in one corner, his eyes bright and wide. He took one last look at her, then fled from the room, his elegant cloak now singed and torn.

Sheik stood, breathing heavily. A nervous giggle sprang from her mouth. Sudden tears came to her eyes – out of joy or relief, she couldn't quite tell. A series of nervous spasms ran down the entire length of her body. When they stopped, she took in a deep breath.

Giddy, Sheik leaned back against a wall, and wiped her brow. She'd done it. She'd really done it.

She still had the shakes when she went around releasing the children, soothing them with cooing words, and gently setting them to the ground. The tremors would pass, she knew. She'd done it. She'd made mistakes but – unlike Princess Zelda – she would learn from them.

Or _try_ to, anyway.

She looked around at the children. Dirty faces with glistening eyes gazed back at her. "Gibb?" she said softly. "Is anyone here called Gibb?"

A couple of the youngsters looked around at one of their friends, a straw-haired boy who started when he saw that he was now the centre of attention.

He took a shy step forward. "That's me."

Sheik smiled, hoping it would show in her eyes. "Mat Kinclaine asked me to find you."

She laughed at Gibb's goggle-eyed look of joy and surprise. She took him by the hand. Sheik would lead him back to his friends. Then she'd have to go join hers, too.

She had a pretty fair idea that Malon had probably noticed her absence by now…


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"By yourself?" Vela had her palms flat on the sole table in the room, her eyes like granite. "Are you insane? You went to rescue those children on your own?"

_Nice. Wasn't expecting this. Not a lecture, at least. I lose my age, and they all think they can talk down to me now._

Heart bubbling with her recent victory, she'd been hoping for a bit more of a pat on the back. Wasn't too much to ask, was it?

At the very least, they could've given her supper.

_Stay cool._

"Yes," she replied, voice calm. She leaned back against one wall, wrapping and unwrapping the bandages around her left hand. "On my own."

The only other person in the room was Malon, the only other furnishings a single lantern atop a narrow bed. This was where the Gerudo woman slept. Sheik had found both Vela and Malon an hour before dawn, talking animatedly. The topic, unsurprisingly, had been her.

_Gerudo._

Sheik peered inward and found no flare of anger, no rush of dark sentiment. Zelda had hated the Gerudo. Sheik, on the other hand…well, her feelings were no longer as strong. Who could be bothered, after all? Hate took up too much energy. Ambivalence was probably a better fit. Though, at the moment, she felt very much under the cosh.

Vela hadn't finished. "Lucky. That's all you were. Lucky."

Sheik winced.

This was like the time she'd been eight and her father had scolded her for climbing, unladylike, up the castle's towers, and battling unseen enemies with her crudely carved wooden sword. Sheik smiled under her rags.

_Tut, tut. Naughty Zelda._

"Don't you see?" Vela continued. "You can't go risking yourself like that. You're the princess."

That did it. Sheik was unable to stop hot, rising anger whipping into her words. ""Yes, the princess!" she snapped. "So why the daggered tongue?"

Malon cleared her throat. "Zelda –"

"Sheik." She tried to take the edge off of her voice. Anger and the Vor Shahal didn't mix. Apparently. "Call me Sheik. Please."

Vela folded her arms. "Well, you just said you were the princess. Make up your mind. How should we treat you? Like royalty? Or like a reckless young woman?"

Sheik felt her eyes narrow. "I knew what I was doing."

"How so? Oh, wait, because you're the 'Chosen One,' right?" Thick emotion began to make Vela's voice tremble. "You're not. Link was the Hero of Time. You're not going to replace him."

Sheik blinked, stunned. "I never said that!"

"You act like it. You've neither the experience nor the skill. You're not good enough."

"And he was? That's why he's now -"

He had to stop herself. Not least because the two older women were looking at her completely aghast.

She knew what they were thinking: Such poison. Such a traitor.

And maybe they were right. Maybe it was too soon to voice such things.

Or maybe she just couldn't help it.

"I –" Sheik blinked again, lost for words. The doubts she'd harboured began to whisper again, barbed weeds that undermined her newfound confidence. She took in a deep breath, tried to bring clarity to her whirling thoughts. When she spoke next her words were quiet, simple and direct. "Someone has to pick up from where he left off. I'm sorry."

Malon stepped forward. "I'm thinking that Vela here was just worried for you, Zelda," she said. "We're all just a bit frayed at the edge now, every one of us." She smoothed down her tunic. "Now. When the cows on the ranch would start getting frisky, I'd get them all focused doing something together. Shared goal, and all that. Calmed them down no end."

Sheik stared at the floor, still stung by the Gerudo's words. "So we're cows now, are we?"

"_No._" Malon was obviously struggling to maintain her patience. "I'm saying we work together on what's important."

Vela closed her eyes for a moment. "You're right. Everything's been so…" She looked at Sheik. "I'm sorry."

The words still hurt, but Sheik was still willing to let the woman off. "I didn't mean what I said about Link."

"I know."

Sheik smiled, then realised the Gerudo couldn't see her smile, so she just nodded solemnly.

"So," Malon replied, smiling in turn. "Prioritise. I'm saying what we need to do is this: Get Ben back home to Lon Lon."

"Oh, Malon, no." The Gerudo shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. The Ruination would pick us off easily if we did that. What's important now is stopping the Sorrow. Nothing else." She looked at Sheik. "The Sorrow is-"

"I know what it is," Sheik replied. She smiled, trying to soften her words. "We both know."

Hope lit up in Vela's eyes. "Good. Better than good, in fact." She looked from Sheik to Malon. "Then you know the Sorrow's purpose? That it heralds the end of the world? And _only_ if it loses now, then it'll return at the very end of time when all living things have gone?"

Sheik blinked. "Um. No. Didn't know _all _that, to be honest."

Vela kept her eyes on Malon. "_Everyone_ is in danger from the Sorrow. You, me, Ben. He's better off staying with us. Trust me. Stop the Sorrow and he'll be safe back home."

Malon didn't look very pleased, but she seemed to have resigned herself to the situation. "How _do_ we stop it, then? It's just us three and little Ben."

Vela took a short breath. "We need to find the Storm Star."

Sheik looked up. "Whatever in the world is that?"

Vela looked at her with curious eyes. "I…it's the only thing that can end the Sorrow. I was…actually hoping that you'd know more about it. I mean, from when you were the princess."

Sheik frowned. "Never heard of it. Is it an object or a person?"

Vela shrugged. A glum expression fell suddenly over her face. Hope fled. "I don't know," she said softly.

Sheik began rubbing her temples. "Wait. I need to make sense of all this." She looked up at Vela. "Who _are_ you, exactly? How do you know Link? And how do you know so much about the Sorrow?"

Vela seized up at the questions. Her liquid brown eyes looked from Sheik to Malon, then back again. She didn't speak for a moment. Then, the tenseness in her shoulders abruptly relaxed. Sheik could tell that the Gerudo woman had just come to a decision.

"Should've done this a while ago," Vela muttered. "Should've just told Link…"

She pulled a glittering rose-coloured ruby from a pouch at her belt. As Sheik and Malon watched in puzzlement, Vela let the jewel rest in the palm of her hand. Her fingers snapped shut.

A searing flash of light followed.

…

There it was. A fog at the centre of her soul. Grey, dark, cold. Menace radiated from it. Pain fed it.

The Sorrow.

If the swirling maelstrom of despair and darkness in her mind had a voice, it would have said this:

_Welcome back, little one. What fun we could have together…_

She ignored it. Instead, she gazed at her two friends.

"Saria?" Malon gaped.

Sheik's eyes widened. "_Saria?_"

She fixed a smile on her face. "I've missed you both so much."

And then the explanations began. She didn't tell them everything, of course. Didn't tell them about what she'd done to the Kokiri back at the village. She didn't even want to think of that. Or of the Sorrow coaxing and whispering in the very fabric of her heart.

Instead she made her mind hum a happy tune. _Her_ song. The one she'd taught Link to play on the ocarina. It reminded her of more gentle times back at the village, reminded her of the hope she'd had even when Ganondorf's darkness had blighted Hyrule, hope that the promised Hero would set everything right. In short, it reminded her of Link.

_Happier times._

"So," she said, after all that had to be said had been said. "That's it. The Sorrow is still in my mind. I can feel it. I just don't know how to get rid of it."

That was the truth, at least. She didn't have to tell them exactly what the Sorrow had made her do.

Malon, her face awash with pity, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Oh, you poor lass… How do you cope?"

Saria tried a brave smile. "It's easier when I'm Vela." She clutched the ruby harder. As long as she still touched it, she could still, as a Kokiri, wander free outside of Kokiri Forest. "I can't feel it as much when I'm…her."

Sheik looked at her with eyes wide. "So you can feel it now?" Crimson eyes blinked. "That's terrible."

Saria gave a short nod. "But what do we do about it?"

She looked from one friend to the other.

_Friend._

A sudden swell of emotion bubbled up inside her. "Zelda. Malon. I'm so sorry. I deceived you. Lied. I didn't mean it. I just didn't know what to do."

"Hush now," Malon said. "We're both glad you're here now. Friends are what we need. All we have left." If she was embarrassed by the raw sentiment in her words she didn't show it. "Now. Let's think."

"That's not all, though" Saria replied, shaking her head. She looked at Sheik. "This war. Do you even know what it's about?"

"No," Sheik replied. "Never have done."

Saria had to give a short laugh. "You'd be surprised how many Gerudo don't know, either. Skellow certainly didn't, the sick pig. This is what the common Gerudo in the street knows: we're fighting, as the Council politely puts it, to civilise the crude barbarians of Hyrule."

Sheik arched an eyebrow. "The Council…?"

"The Council of the Solitary Eight," Saria replied. "They're the ones who rule the Gerudo."

"And what're they really after, then?" Malon asked.

"Hyrule Castle," said Saria, turning to look at the ranch woman. "Specifically, the catacombs beneath the castle. There are scrolls in there, thousands of them. Some of them centuries old. They hoped to find the answer there. About who, or what, is the Storm Star."

"That's it?" Sheik's eyes goggled. "That's all? That was what all this bloodshed was for?"

Saria felt her cheeks pinch. Strange that she felt so defensive.

"It's a bit more complex than that," she explained. "The Gerudo, they're taught that they're great warriors, the only reason they exist is to be the last line of defence against some sort of great evil. They mean the Sorrow, of course, but most Gerudo don't know that. It's a point of pride, though, that they see themselves like this…" She started to feel a little sheepish. "Even I was taken by the romance of it."

"But why didn't they just come and _ask _me?" Sheik cried. "I would've helped them. I would've opened all the doors to the catacombs myself if I'd known that's all they wanted."

Saria shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "They don't…well, the Council…" She let out a breath. "They kind of look down on you, Highness."

"Well," Sheik replied in a quiet voice. "_She_ would tell you that the feeling was very much mutual."

The young girl suddenly sprung away from the wall, her eyes alight. "Ha!" she said. "But this is perfect! Ha _haaaa._ We just go to this Council now, tell them that we're willing to help, tell my father, and _both_ this war will be over and we'll find the Storm Star. Yes!"

"_No,_" Saria replied. "You're not thinking this through."

She was struck by Sheik's strangely cheery demeanour. It wasn't right. She'd seen the young girl deal out death to Skellow. No one could do that and still retain any shred of their innocence.

_There's a little bit of the Sorrow in all of us._

More than that – and flying in the face of her earlier apology - even though Zelda was her friend, she really didn't like this whole 'Chosen One' business. She didn't know why it irked her so. She just couldn't imagine Zelda being anything other than her kind, but fragile – no matter how hard she tried to hide it – princess. And then there was all that Vor Shahal nonsense…

Sheik stopped to regard her. "Why? We could go to Nabooru. She'd help."

"They won't listen to her, and they won't listen to you," Saria replied. "I told you. They don't think very highly of you. And they're convinced this has to be done in a warrior way."

"Ruto, then," Malon piped in. "Or Darunia." Excitement made her voice speed up. "They'd help, and they could keep Ben nice and safe. We could get some sort of party together. Go find this Storm Star."

"_Or_," said Sheik. "We could just sneak back into the castle. Go to the catacombs ourselves. Find the information that we need."

"Why sneak?" Malon asked, looking up at the young girl. "Why not just go ask your Da?" She coughed, suddenly embarrassed. "His Royal Highness, I mean."

Uncertainty flickered in Sheik's eyes. "I…I don't think I want to." She blinked. "Anyhow. I've read a lot of those scrolls. Not every single one, sure, but a fair bit. I never came across any mention of this Storm Star."

"Exactly," said Saria. "That's what I'd been hoping for. That Princess Zelda would know what to do and then together with…with…" She steeled herself. "…with Link, we could have found it. But, it seems that the knowledge isn't in those scrolls after all…"

"Link…" Sheik said, her voice trailing. "He's…"

Saria's irritation flared again. "Where?" she said. "Where is he? Can he come back?"

"_No. _He can't. I told you before. I don't _know_ where. It's just what the Vor Shahal showed me."

Saria struggled to keep her composure. "How do you know that, though? How do you _really_ know it was them?"

Sheik's head snapped up. She clicked her fingers. "That's it! Ha _haaa_. We'll ask them!"

Saria frowned. She glanced at Malon, who shrugged in return. "Ask who?"

Sheik began to pace in excitement. "You said you followed Link, right? When he was with the Lost?"

"Yes, but-"

"So you know where the Vor Shahal are?"

Saria finally caught the thread. "In the north," she said solely. Her mind began to ponder. "It's far, though. Very far. Cold, too. Icy."

"That's the solution," Sheik said. "We'll go to the Vor Shahal. They seem to have their fingers in a lot of pies, don't they? They might know of the Storm Star. I've got some questions for them myself." Her eyes darted from Malon to Saria. "What do you say?"

"I can't take Ben that far," Malon replied. "And it's cold, you said?"

Saria pondered. "But if we had the right gear…" She looked at Malon. "We'd have supplies. We'd be warm."

Malon's lips thinned. "No chance of even trying a trip to Lon Lon, then?"

Saria shook her head. "The quicker we get to the Lost, the quicker we can deal with the Sorrow."

"We can do this," Sheik cut in, her voice suddenly solemn. She looked from one to the other. "We can. If Link could do it, we can. He may have gone, but we can carry on."

Malon sighed. "Be on with you both, then," she said. "What do we have to do?"

"Well, first," Saria said. "Time for me to go. And Vela to return." She smiled at both her friends in turn. "It's so nice to see you with my own eyes again."

She raised the ruby, then pressed it hard, mentally whispering the requisite words that Nabooru had taught her long ago.

Nothing happened.

Saria blinked. She looked at her friends in panic. "I don't…"

She tried a second time.

Nothing happened again.

Saria gasped. The presence of the Sorrow curled its way up into her head with fingers of ice and a malevolent smile. If it had a voice, Saria was certain it would sound like a scratchy whisper, born in the deepest black of night, and chilling to the bone.

And if it had a voice, it would be saying this:

_You were too long away, little one. We have you now. Ah, we have you now._

…

The red smudge of dawn glinted off of three pairs of eyes watching the inn from a rooftop nearby. Castleton was slowly awakening below them, cucco cries, delivery carts and yawning traders spilling out slowly into the streets. The Pariah District was quieter than most – its business took place under the shadowy canopy of the night's darkness.

"You've confirmed it, then? This is the inn?"

Willowreed gave her leader a haughty look. A newly constructed flail gleamed in a boiled leather sling on her back. "You have to ask, Jon?"

Macabre yawned. "I'm famished. We getting this done before breakfast? I fancy some eggs today."

Jon Skysmith scratched the bridge of his nose. "No," he replied. "We're going to watch and wait. They've come this far. I want to see what they're up to." His breath steamed in the cold air. "Yes. Let's just call it…an education."

**A/N: **So much for that short break, eh? :P


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

There was one thing an urchin instinctively knew about living on the streets of Castleton, one constant that lay at the back of the head, forming and framing every thought, feeling and decision.

Where there were people, there was pain. In short: people hurt.

That's all Sal needed to know to survive. This morning was just like any other. Crouched beside a stack of rotting wooden crates, Sal watched the Pariah District fill with people and come to life. Eyes touched him but didn't linger. Inwardly Sal cringed. Outwardly, he was the very picture of defiance. He had to be. Thin muscles tense, he had to be ready for the inevitable attack. Verbal or physical, it didn't matter. Sal knew that it was coming. It always did.

An old man with a knotted and scraggly grey beard pushed a rattling cart around a corner and into Sal's sight. Steel containers filled with steaming fried potatoes jostled and shuddered with every bounce. Thick oil sizzled. Sal's stomach clenched with a sharp cramp, and his mouth watered with anticipation. His mind, though, stayed crystal clear. This was, after all, his regular morning routine.

There was another constant in Sal's life, too. Something that overpowered even his ravenous hunger. He could only describe it as a craving. Not a physical one, definitely. Instead, it called from a deep hollow in his heart and from the very pits of his soul. It pushed and prodded him from the moment the sun stroked his face in the morning to the time when he snuggled down to sleep on a cracked, stone bed in a dark and dirty back-alley.

He didn't know what exactly the craving was. He didn't know how to quench it, either. It was there, that's all he knew. Sometimes it pushed so hard and fierce that he spent the entire day with frustration prickling under his skin, just waiting for someone to say or do the wrong thing so that he could erupt with volcanic rage.

Sal shook at the memory. The thin dirty strips of fabric that were his clothes flapped in response.

Sal let his thoughts fade into the background. Now wasn't the time for this. Now was the time to eat.

The old man was a fool. Sal did this run every morning without fail. Sure, he wouldn't strike at exactly the same hour or place every day, but both the boy and the man knew he'd be there nonetheless. It was a simple thing. Just when the doddering old fool was distracted, Sam would dart in, dodging and weaving, then would grab himself a handful of the golden brown potatoes, and would then scarper. The food would be safe, glistening in hot fat. His nose wrinkled as he recalled the spicy, charred and yet familiar scent.

Sal glanced down at his blistered fingers. There were obvious consequences, sure. But it was worth it. Just to have hot food was worth it.

He looked up. A couple of women had just sidled up to the cart, and the man turned to greet them. Sal smiled.

Now.

Sal sprang from his hiding spot, lungs burning and the morning sun dazzling his eyes. Ducking here, shifting his thin body just right, he slid in and out through the throng of people. He'd done it so many times now it was almost second nature.

He didn't spot the sludge of rotted fruit smearing the ground.

Sal's worn and weathered sandals slipped in the dirt. He careened into the cart, felt the wind fly from his lungs.

The old man turned around. "Out with it! Out with it, you brat!" He raised a steel ladle still sizzling with fresh oil. "Get away with you!"

Sal only had a heartbeat to react. The man was already swinging for his head with the large spoon. Pushing away with a lurch, Sal evaded the blow only to tumble into one of the passers-by.

"Filth!" A backhand sent Sal flying into the rough ground with a crunch. He lay there for a moment, trying to regain his bearings. From his vantage point, Sal saw boots, shoes and sandals stride on by. One pair paused to give him a swift kick to the ribs.

Sal groaned and rolled over.

Disaster. That had been a disaster. Anger bubbled and boiled inside. People hurt, he knew that, but he'd never yet learned to stem the flow of rage he felt whenever he'd had to experience that lesson first hand.

His vision swam. Sal blinked. He blinked again.

Someone was standing over him, framed in the sunlight's golden glow.

"Here," a soft voice said. "Have mine."

Sal scrambled to his feet and backed off. Every single one of his instincts screamed at him to flee. He even half-turned, ready to run. Something in the voice gave him pause. Something made him stay.

A young girl stood before him. Face half-covered, dressed in midnight blue, she gazed at him with strange scarlet eyes. She held out a brown package filled with fried potatoes. Sal's nose twitched at the scent.

"Go on." She gave the package a little shake. It rustled invitingly. "Take it."

Confusion rang in Sal's mind. This was new. What did this girl want? What attack was she planning?

Another older woman stood behind the girl. Sal recognised them both. They'd been the ones who had distracted the old man earlier.

Gingerly, Sal raised a hand. He didn't know why. This was against his every instinct and hard-learned belief. There was just something about this girl. Something soothing. Something safe.

Sal gave the sodden brown paper a poke, then snapped his hand away. He'd been expecting her to steal the package away, to laugh at his stupid naivety then strike him down for good measure.

She hadn't.

Sal snatched the package from her hand, then backed off a few more paces. He gave her a suspicious frown that he hoped looked suitable intimidating.

The girl just laughed softly. "Enjoy."

Something struck Sal at that moment. Something shocking.

The craving, that awful inscrutable craving, had vanished. Melted. Sal felt instead a peaceful sense of satiation that – somehow- seemed to make the whole world look just a tad brighter.

Clutching his prize in his hand, Sal turned and ran, confusion still clouding his mind.

…

"Glad you did that," said Malon as they both watched the urchin scamper off.

Sheik glanced at her. "How so?"

Malon smiled. "Fried 'tatoes for breakfast? Where was your head at, girl?"

Sheik laughed. The boy had all but disappeared now; only if she strained could she catch a faint sight of his flapping rags. It was a pointless gesture, she knew. The boy would wolf down the food – he needed it, the scrawny little thing – and then would forget all about her. She'd just felt that she'd had to do something.

It just didn't feel enough.

Vela – well, Saria now – had needled her with doubts. Unsettled her. Sheik didn't like it. She had that awful feeling of being cast adrift, like at sea.

Sheik had thought that she could forget all about Princess Zelda, but she'd been wrong. She couldn't forget. All the things she'd done as the princess – the arbitrary hangings, the calculated fear she'd nurtured in her people – all those actions were still a part of her, deep inside. Waiting.

Helping out a street urchin wouldn't wipe them out. Being named the Chosen One wouldn't either, no matter how hard she'd hoped it would.

Malon had told her she'd been fussing over nothing, that people in power had to make difficult decisions like that. Sheik had found that a tad strange. Hadn't Malon been the first to have given her a verbal dressing down over her actions, back when they'd both been Skellow's prisoners? Now the ranch woman was defending her.

Her friend's words hadn't comforted her, though. Sheik knew something Malon didn't. Knew something else, something sinister, about being a person in power.

Princess Zelda had watched people avert their gazes in fear, had watched presumed traitors dangling without a trial from a creaking gibbet, had watched commoners cowering in fear in her presence, and every time she'd watched a slight thrill had sped through her heart. Mouth-watering. Tempting. Delicious.

She'd tried to bury it, of course. Ignore it. But she knew all the while that it had been there, deep and dark tarring the very centre of her soul.

Sheik blinked away the thoughts. She _so _wanted to be the Chosen One now. Desperately wanted it. Not just have the title bestowed upon her by the Vor Shahal. She wanted to _be. _Wanted to live the Hero's life, to pick up where Link had fallen. Her Link. Her courageous Link.

In short, she wanted to put things right.

Was it enough, though?

"Think that's the place," said Malon, pointing at a small shop about a hundred paces away. Sheik nodded, and let her friend lead the way.

_Right. To business._

Saria and Ben were back at the inn. Saria wouldn't leave the place. She had holed herself up in her room, making plans and barking out orders. Whatever sickness the Sorrow had infected her with had left her twitchy, nervous and quite unwilling to step out into the sun, even for a moment. The funds that Vela had brought with her were running low fast – they barely had enough now for a day or two of food and lodgings. Saria had therefore hatched for them a plan.

_Saria._

Sheik had decided that she knew why Saria – and Vela before her- had been so hard on her. It wasn't that the Kokiri really thought that Sheik wasn't the Chosen One. Despite her comments, Saria seemed keen on their expedition north to the Vor Shahal; she even seemed convinced that the only reason Sheik was still alive was because of the healing abilities of the Lost tribe. So, no, she didn't doubt Sheik's connection to the Vor Shahal at all.

What Saria did blame Sheik for – blame Princess Zelda for, to be exact – was simple. Princess Zelda had allowed Skellow into Hyrule Castle. Princess Zelda, then, was the ultimate cause of Link's death.

That hurt. Sheik wasn't sure if the pain was because of Saria's opinion of her or because there was some truth to it. It hurt, too, that she still couldn't escape from Princess Zelda's shadow.

And so to Saria's plan.

The Sage of Forest had decided to hire Malon and Sheik out as mercenaries. The irony of it wasn't lost on Sheik. Neither was the pure insanity of it all. She would've laughed had the little Kokiri not been so serious.

Malon had no experience, and neither of them had a reputation. Saria had been insistent. They only needed to do the one job. That would pay for the equipment they needed to make the trek north. Sure, they could just work in the inn or someplace similar, but it would take too long, and they didn't have the funds to cover the time. And, besides, Saria was certain that the Ruination were still tracking them.

Secretly, Sheik had been more than a little pleased. After all, if Saria thought she could be a mercenary, then surely she didn't think that badly about her skills, right?

_Or she thinks even I can't botch up just one job. _

And so they'd spilled the word out into the streets of the Pariah District. They didn't get much of a response – no big surprise there. No one knew who they were, and no one was interested in a pair of women. That, and Sheik wanted to be sure that whatever job they took didn't involve anything too immoral.

The only offer they'd had before today had been from a sordid looking fellow who had nervously requested a meeting in a dark corner of the district. Malon and Sheik had gone under cover of the night, Sheik with her bow, Malon with Vela's old sword. The man had had a sour stench to him, and dark, red-rimmed eyes.

He'd taken one look at Malon, then had said, "Too old."

He'd then traced Sheik with his gaze, up and down, in such a way that she'd been tempted to burn a light arrow through both his eyes. He'd stopped at her face, then peered at her rag covered visage. "Ugly bitch," he'd declared, and that had been an end to it.

Hot molten anger had filled Sheik then. Enraged by the casual cruelty of the dismissal, she'd had to physically choke it down just to make sure she hadn't done anything reckless. Sure, she knew – instinctively – that the Vor Shahal frowned on anger, but she was finding such icy control slipping day by day.

_Or is it?_

She hadn't reacted, after all. She'd just let the feelings flow, had embraced them momentarily…then had let them go. Perhaps that's what the Vor Shahal really meant about anger…? To feel it, but not give in to it?

_I mean, how could you not feel any anger at all, ever?_

It was all so terribly confusing.

Whatever the case was, Sheik did now find it easier to let such things glide. She'd faced death, after all, and she was still ever so happy to still be alive. And that was good – it meant that dark thoughts had no place to find a handhold in her heart.

So it was that she entered the little shop behind Malon, her musings all melting, a smile rising to her lips, and with a cheery, "Hello!"

A thin man looked up at the sound of the tinkling shop bell. He looked at Sheik, "Ma'am," then at Malon, "Ma'am. Welcome." His arm swept open in a grand gesture. "Feel free to browse."

Sheik smiled under her rags. "We will do."

It was the kind of shop that you couldn't quite put a label to. It pretty much sold everything – antiques, junk, jewellery, even food. There were a couple of other patrons there, but they didn't spare the two women more than a second glance. Even dressed as she was Sheik still didn't attract much attention in the Pariah District.

They'd received the request late last night, only their second ever. It had been a desperate note – well, they had to be desperate if they were even _thinking_ of hiring Malon and herself – asking for a meeting at this particular shop a few hours after dawn to discuss, as the note put it, urgent business.

Malon leaned in close. "Take a gander"

Sheik glanced around the shop. The man at the counter stared intently at a scroll, brow furrowed and lips moving wordlessly. A large woman peered at the shelves, her finger tapping her brightly coloured lips. A young man crouched in front of a large, gaudy lamp, and pondered in thoughtful deliberation.

Malon waggled her eyebrows. "Notice anyone suspicious?"

"Um," Sheik replied. "Us?"

The ranch woman pursed her lips, unimpressed. "Keep an eye out. And act natural."

Sheik nodded. She wandered up to the counter, neck stretched as she gazed at the merchandise resting on the shelves behind. Her eyes stopped as she came to one particular item. She smiled.

"Nice harp."

The man at the counter started with a tiny yelp. "Oh!" he said. "I didn't notice you, ma'am. I'm terribly sorry." He glanced up. "Ah, the harp. Hmm. Yes. Apparently this one has a little history. It belonged to one of the Harkinian Royal Family's retainers. I play, of course. No doubt you don't."

"Well, actually –"

"No, didn't think so."

Sheik's eyes narrowed at the man's haughty smile. Shame. She'd started to like him, too.

The man brushed down his tunic, then dragged a small stool over to the wall. Balancing himself on the little chair, he then pulled the harp down from the shelf. He coughed as a powder of dust puffed from the instrument and into the air.

The man looked down his nose at Sheik. "I was taught by my cousin. A famous harpist from Labrynna. When he was young, he'd spend hours with me perfecting my technique."

His fingers danced awkwardly on the strings. Sheik winced as the man gave each cord a rough tug, entwining his fingers in all the wrong ways until – _twang –_ one of the strings tore loose.

Sheik's eyes narrowed again. "Right," she said. "By 'cousin' did you mean _you_, and by 'when he was young' did you, pray, actually mean _yesterday_?"

The thin man had the grace to look sheepish.

A tiny cough made Sheik turn around. The large woman and young man had closed in on both Malon and herself. A flash of steel told her that they were both armed.

Sheik gave Malon a panicked glance, and her friend was just about to open her mouth when the large woman spoke.

"Please," she said, holding up a hand. "You're in no danger here. We just wanted to make sure we had the right people."

Sheik felt her fingers tense. She could get to her bow, she knew she could. She was fast now. Very fast.

"Right people for what?" Malon asked, her tone cautious.

The woman coughed again. "You must be Malon, daughter of Talon, right? And Ms. Sheik? My name is Anne-Marie, and this is my son, Gil. We were the ones that sent you the message."

Malon didn't lower her guard. "You said we'd recognise you. That you'd have an onyx ring…?"

Anne-Marie held up her other hand. The sleeve fell away, revealing a large obsidian jewel glinting in a silver band wrapped around one meaty finger. She nodded at the thin man behind the counter. "Forgive my manservant here. Jav owns and runs this shop on behalf of the Koholint Royal Family."

"Koholint," Sheik said, her mind racing. "The island. That's a myth. A dream. Men and women have died searching for that place. For the riches that are meant to be buried there."

Gil smiled. "A myth, mistress? That's what we want you Hylians to believe."

Anne-Marie cut in. "We value our privacy." Heavy perfume wafted from the woman. "For obvious _financial _reasons. That's why we had to be sure that the people we hired we're both small in number and, forgive the exaggeration, pure at heart."

A sour taste coated Sheik's tongue. _Exaggeration is the meat of it, definitely._

"What makes you think that we're…-" she couldn't bring herself to say it, "-what you think we are?"

Anne-Marie blinked, surprised. "Why, it's obvious, of course. I saw how you reacted to Jav's butchering of the harp there. That shows you to be a lady of sophistication and class. And only the nobles are pure, right?"

Sheik had to force her tongue not to reveal exactly what she thought about that. From the corner of her she could see Malon struggling to do the same. Instead Sheik said, "But how'd you know I'd go for the harp?"

Surprise caught Anne-Marie out again. "Why, _everything_ in this shop is worth at least fifty-thousand rupees each. We would have found out one way or another."

_Awfully lucky for you that I like harps, then. _

"What is it you're wanting from us, ma'am?" Malon asked.

"And so polite, too." Anne-Marie smiled, then drew herself up to her full height. "Like I said, we represent the Koholint Royal Family. We have no official ties to the Harkinians, of course, but our dear little Princess Onyx does love to visit Castleton. The fashions here are simply divine." She cleared her throat. "Obviously, we brought with us a token guard. We were not expecting to be recognised, after all."

"But we were," Gil said, his voice hard. "Someone knew that Princess Onyx was here. And that someone…he…he…" Grief made his voice choke up.

Anne-Marie had to take a deep breath before she continued. "Someone has kidnapped the princess. And now he's trying to sell her to the highest bidder." The woman's large lip quivered. "She's just a slip of a girl…"

Something cold and clammy clutched Sheik's heart. She had an awful sensation she knew where this was going. When she spoke next, her voice sounded small and tinny in her own ears. "Do you know who took her?"

Anne-Marie nodded. "A man named Steely Jay. We did a few enquiries. The uncouth fiend trades in children. Can you believe that? Apparently he lost his entire supply a few nights ago. He took the princess just yesterday."

Sheik had to catch her breath. _Was Saria right? Am I too reckless? But…I couldn't have just left those poor children…_

Gil picked up the thread. "We need someone familiar with Castleton to do this. Our guards are too emotionally invested. We can't risk them making a mistake."

"We'll pay you one hundred and fifty thousand rupees," Anne-Marie said. Her fingers fidgeted in nervous agitation. "The money will be deposited in various way-stations – fully guarded, I add - throughout Hyrule. We will give you the Royal Seal by which you can withdraw as much as you want at your leisure."

"So," said Sheik before Malon could interrupt. She believed them and had made up her mind. "You want us to rescue the princess?"

Gil and Anne-Marie nodded.

Sheik's bandages rustled as her lips formed a broad smile. "Rescue a princess. I've always wanted to rescue a princess. Haven't you always wanted to rescue a princess, Malon?"

A sour expression hung from the ranch woman's face. "It seems I haven't yet stopped."

A tinkling laugh flew from Sheik's lips. She turned back to the two Koholintians and thrust out a hand. "Done."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Well, that went well."

Sheik felt her cheeks pinch at Malon's tart words. The two of them hung awkwardly from a damp, grimy wall, rusted steel manacles biting their wrists. Their toes brushed the dirty straw littering the ground. There was a third prisoner too, hanging between the two of them. This one chattered happily to herself. Occasionally she would burst into a rush of tears before capping it all off with a sudden but jaunty tune. Princess Onyx was a bit flighty like that.

No plan, no strategy. Last night, Sheik had found out where Steely Jay had been holding the princess. This morning she'd stormed in, dragging a protesting Malon in tow. It hadn't been too bad at first. The initial phalanx of guards they'd encountered had withered to ash under the rapid burst of light arrows from her bow. That hadn't lasted. Sheer weight of numbers had eventually overwhelmed them.

They'd been captured, of course. Captured easily.

Sheik's cheeks began to burn.

_Embarrassing._

Worse was what she'd already promised herself, back when she'd first dealt with Steely Jay: that she wouldn't ever blithely rush in to the fray. What a wonder that night was now. How in the world had she managed to rescue those children before? What had Vela said – that she'd just been lucky, right? Sheik had a sinking feeling that Saria's old incarnation may just have been right.

She'd done so well against Skellow. And the rescue of the children; well, aside from a few _miscalculations_ it had all turned out fine in the end, hadn't it? She'd even managed to capture that icy sense of detachment that she'd assumed the Vor Shahal had expected from her.

When had it all started to go wrong?

Sheik sighed. In response, a tide of despair rose within – dark, bleak and overwhelming – and Sheik had to force herself to struggle against it. She bit her lower lip. She wasn't going to let herself drown. Not at all.

_Bearings, girl. Get your bearings._

For about the hundredth time Sheik took a glance around their small prison. The wall they were strung to, and the wall opposite – that wall had the only door – were made of stone. The other two were constructed from a curious type of curved mirrored glass. Why such elaborate artistry was necessary was a mystery to Sheik. It _was_ pretty, though.

"Are we going to die?" Blinking with the kind of wide eyes that probably melted the hearts of the naïve and innocent, Princess Onyx stirred in her chains. It was the longest speech Sheik had heard her make.

"Hush, child," Malon said. Her chains jangled as they scraped the stone. "If killing us was their aim, they'd have gone and done it already."

Onyx sniffled. Her wrinkled white dress stank of dried sweat and old urine. Torn from her comfort zone, the princess had withdrawn into her own little world of song and mad chatter. Sheik felt a stab of pity for her.

"I'll fix it," she whispered. "I will."

Malon snorted. "How'll you manage that, then? Some pink magic fairy dust?"

Sheik felt the heat pump in her veins and rise to her face. Rage and humiliation warred in her heart. Anger at being dismissed so quickly; shame at the fact that her old friend could very well be right.

There was another part of her, too, the tiny part that belonged to Princess Zelda's wisdom. It told her that her friend hadn't meant it, that she was just scared, that's all, and not to get so terribly worked up.

Sheik would have almost believed that had Malon not spoken next:

"We'd have been alright if Link were here."

Sheik's reply flew from her mouth before she even had a chance to think. "We don't need Link for everything."

Sorrow and guilt suddenly clutched her heart. She felt like she'd just danced on her Hero's grave. Then spat on it for good measure.

_And that's why you shouldn't let your anger overcome you. _

"Will you bints keep it down? We is trying to have ourselves a game here."

Sheik looked up at the sound of the voice. It belonged to one of their guards, sat at a squat table an arm's length away. Another guard sat opposite – all wiry limbs topped with a nervy gaze. A chessboard was spread between them. The thin, nervous man was clearly losing.

Sheik frowned. Her bow was resting against the table's fat legs. They'd kept it, probably figuring that, without arrows, there'd be no use for her even if she had managed to escape. A bunch of silver keys dangled from one of the bow's curves. If only there was a way for her to reach…

_Think. Just think. _

She cast another glance over at the guards. The thin one's trembling hand hovered over a rook while his companion, anticipation dancing in his eyes, rubbed an unshaven stubbly chin.

Chess. An awfully highbrow game for a pair of guards. Hylian guards, too. Playing a Gerudo game. Sheik let her thoughts swirl. There had to be a way to use this information to her advantage.

_Wisdom. You still have that wisdom. Come on – think!_

Her eyes took in the chessboard. She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, then said: "Knight to f6."

The nervous man's hand froze. He threw Sheik a surprised glance. She, in turn, gazed nonchalantly at the ceiling.

"What?" he said. "What did you say?"

"Oh. Sorry." She let her gaze drop back down. "Nothing."

"No," the thin one said. "You said summat. Say it again."

"Just leave it out, Gram," the first guard said.

"_You _leave it, Stitch," Gram replied, throwing his companion a heated glance. He turned back to Sheik. "Now, girl. You better start talking. Or all three of you are gonna gets it."

Sheik allowed mock-fear to theatrically widen her eyes. "Knight to f6, I said." She shrugged. "If you want, that is."

"Don't be listenin' to the wench," said Stitch. His fingers danced against the bored with nervous energy. "Play it how you want."

He looked a little unsettled. _He knows,_ Sheik thought. _He knows that move will put him on the back foot._

Gram looked from Sheik to his fellow guard. "I'll listen to whoever I bleedin' want, Stitch. Remember, I've got six months wages riding on this game."

Stitch leaned forward and cracked his knuckles. "All the more reason why you should keep yer own counsel. Don't let yourself be distracted by some tiny scrap of skirt. You know how women are. Remember Bessie. Remember how she strung you along all that time, huh? How you got all blubbering and -"

"Shut it. I remember."

Stitch paused, then added: "The Count will deal with these bints. You just play your game."

'The Count' was Count Xain, the Hylian nobleman who was holding Sheik and her two companions in this ramshackle old storehouse that sat the border between the Pariah District and the Spicemongers Market. Steely Jay was nowhere to be found, though Xain had made it clear that he was working on Jay's behalf. He'd also made it clear that the only reason Malon and Sheik hadn't already been killed was because he thought they might be worth a few extra rupees on the slave traders' market.

_Lucky us._

Gram looked hard at Stitch, then turned slowly to Sheik. "Why'd you want to help me for, eh? You leadin' me a dance, are ye?"

She let a soft glance touch the thin guard. "I don't like bullies, Gram" she said. "Especially silver-tongued ones. You lose six months pay if you fail. What do you get if you win?"

Gram frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but Stitch cut him off. "Bragging rights. That's what he gets. You wouldn't understand. You're a woman. This be a man's game.

Her eyes moved to Stitch and her gaze hardened. "Your friend there is playing you for a fool, Gram."

"Stop it," Stitch spat. "Stop riling 'im up. He's only simple and- "

He gaped, realising what he'd just done.

Sheik smiled.

_Got you._

"Simple?" Gram choked. "Simple?" He turned back to the game. "Knight to f6!" He picked up the piece, then slammed it back onto the board with such force that the other pieces jumped. He sat back, then smiled. He blinked. He gazed at the board. He blinked again. His jaw dropped open. "Check! Check, that's check! Yes! My first one!" He grinned at Sheik who couldn't help but smile back. "Ever!"

Stitch moved his king out of harm's way in a sweeping, exaggerated motion, then favoured Sheik with a poisoned glance. "What're you playing at, huh?"

Malon piped in, the words spilling from her lips. "Unchain her. Unchain her and she'll show you. Show you both how to play your silly little game."

"No!" Sheik and Stitch both spoke in unison.

The word echoed around the small chamber. Princess Onyx's ears pricked up at the sound.

Sheik felt her heart thunder. Blood pumped through her temples. She couldn't let anyone interfere now. A sudden film of moisture slickened her palms. Malon pierced her with a hard stare, face grim, eyes shocked. Sheik didn't dare reveal a thing. She appreciated the help, sure, but this wasn't the way.

Princess Onyx threw frightened glances at both of them, turning from Sheik to Malon, then back again. She whimpered. Sheik tried to soothe her with an unseen smile before turning back to the guards. Her rapid breathing still hadn't quietened. "It'd be terribly stupid to let me go, wouldn't it, Stitch?"

"Damn right," the guard growled. "Be just a trick, it would. Not that I'm scared of any of you."

Sheik's mouth had gone bone dry. She hoped that she'd read the man well. Read them _both _well. "But," she said, swallowing. "The board isn't that far from me. Just unclasp, say, just one of my hands, and I'll help Gram out here. You could beat the both of us, right?"

Stitch folded his arms and sat back. His chair protested the pressure a laboured creak. "What'd be the point?" he said. "I'll beat him fine without your help, bitch."

Sheik glanced at Gram. The thin guard set his shoulders and leaned back in his chair. He stuck his thumb out in Sheik's direction. "I ain't playing unless she's playing."

Stitch sat bolt upright, his eyes widening. "What? You can't do that! You-" He looked from Gram's stony face to Sheik. He licked his lips. His own expression hardened. Stitch spat. "Fine, then." He looped the jingling keys around his fingers and stood up.

Sheik smiled.

…

Count Xain didn't consider himself a bad person. Certainly not. It's just that he didn't look at things in such simplistic ways as good and evil; instead, for him, there was either profit, or there wasn't. Being a middleman to Steely Jay was just that – pure profit. Besides, he gave a fair bit of the money he made to the poor and his own dear, if slightly decrepit, parents. Bless them. Did it really make much difference that a few orphan children went missing? No-one would notice anyway. The Count didn't like to think about what happened to the little brats after he'd done all the deals. Ignorance, for him, was a near perfect arrangement that he was very much keen to keep in place.

Fingers tapping the crossbow hanging from his belt, the Count strode down the winding dimly-lit corridor, his assembled guards marching in time behind him. These were all the men he had left. He'd let the others have the night off. And why not? There were only three prisoners here, after all. The echoing sound of their boots pulled him away from his musings and onto the task at hand: a meeting with Steely Jay.

A tremor of nervousness tingled the Count's veins, and he didn't like that one bit. After all, he was a nobleman and Steely Jay was an uncouth commoner. The man should be trembling in anticipation of meeting him, not the reverse. Unfortunately, the Count had learned long ago that when it came to making money manners, good breeding and status had no weight. Unless, of course, you had contacts. That's what made the Count so useful to Steely Jay. Most of their clientele belonged to the nobility, after all.

Xain came to a halt in front of a solid metal door and held up his hand. The guards stamped their feet and stopped. The Count smiled. At least the hired hands knew how to respond well to their betters. The door opened, and Steely Jay stepped through, brushing his thick coat down from all the accumulated detritus that came with a hard and fast trek on a speeding mare.

Jay looked up. "Count."

Xain bowed his head. "Jay."

"Walk with me."

Jay turned on his heel and slipped down another passageway. Xain and his guards followed, the Count fuming silently inside. He detested his own pathetic servility.

"Your message was strange, Count," Jay said. "You said someone attacked us…?"

Xain blinked, noticing that Steely Jay was headed toward the prison cell. Say what you want about the commoner, but at the very least he got straight to the point.

"There were two of them," Xain replied. "Both women. No match for us."

Back stiff, Steely Jay kept to a hard and fast pace. "How did they know? How did they know about the princess?"

The Count shrugged. "The word _is_ on the street…"

"Why didn't you kill them and be done with it?"

Xain managed to keep up well with the other man. That was good. He prided himself on his own fitness. "I thought they might fetch a good price."

Jay kept his eyes straight ahead. "Age..?"

The Count winced. He hated being treated like a common hand, barely worthy of attention. For about the millionth time in his life, Count Xain reminded himself that he didn't need the extra money. He just _wanted_ it, that's all. He just didn't know _why _he did, and why he never felt satisfied no matter how much he managed to hoard.

Xain brought his attention back to the present. "One's about fifteen or sixteen," he said. "The other's about, ah, thirty, I'd say."

Steely Jay waved dismissively. "Too old. Both of them. You know how it is, Count. Our clientele have eclectic – and very specific - tastes." He began to count of the requirements with his fingers. "First of all, our individual merchandise each has to be a virgin. I mean, that goes without saying, but there it is. And second, more importantly, they have to be young. Very young. Say, ten years old like that princess. Mind you, even that's cutting it just fine. Beyond that…no."

The Count felt a sour taste rise from his twisting stomach. Xain prided himself on his ignorance on such matters, and Steely Jay had just provided him with a little bit more information than his comfort zone would allow. He now very much wanted to get this deal over and done with.

Steely Jay spoke on. "I've got an offer for the princess. The other two? Kill them."

_Be a pleasure. Killing, torture – all that was better than what they'd be sold for. They'd be better off dead, anyway._

They stopped in front of the prison's door. The Count reached for the handle – then froze.

The door was open.

Xain threw a panicked glance up at Jay. The other man snarled, then barged the door open with his shoulder. The guards spilled in after them.

The Count gazed around. The steel manacles hung empty against the far wall. Stitch and Gram, the two guards he'd posted, lay unconscious on the ground. An abandoned chessboard hung over the edge of a table. The pieces had spilled out onto the floor.

Steely Jay slapped his thigh in frustration. "Perfect," he spat. "Just perfect."

The Count sucked in a trembling breath. "It was that young one," he said softly. "There was just something…odd about her." Xain swallowed as Jay gave the table a sharp kick. "I knew that red-eyed witch would be a problem."

Steely Jay froze. "Wait. What did you say?"

The Count blinked. "Er…that one of them would be a problem?"

"Which one?" Jay's hands clasped and unclasped. "What did you call her?"

"Red-eyed witch?"

Jay's eyes bulged. "Thin?"

"Yes."

He gestured with his hand. "About yay high?"

"Yes."

"Midnight-blue tunic?"

"_Yes._" Irritation bit at the Count. "What is this about?"

Steely Jay was trembling now, sweat trickling down his brow and into his wide eyes. "No. Oh, no…"

Xain frowned. "What is wrong with you, man? Pull yourself together!"

"_Get your weapons!"_ Jay bellowed. "_All of you! We're in grave-"_

The mirrored glass wall to their right shattered outwards into a torrent of twinkling splinters. Surprised shouts followed, and the Count ducked, covering his eyes with a raised hand. A thin whistling breeze blew in from the unlit passageway beyond. Count Xain slowly stood upright, glanced at Steely Jay – the man was useless now, and the stench of fresh urine wafted in from him – and then peered into the opening.

An arrow made of pure, golden light flared into life from the darkness.

A voice followed.

"Ha _haaaaa…_"

…

Sheik knew they weren't scared of her, knew they probably thought as little of her as Saria did. She didn't awfully care just right now. She had the cover of darkness and the element of surprise, and she was going to use it. She released a trio of arrows before any of men could even begin to react. They sizzled through the armour and flesh of three screaming guards.

Her initial exuberance began to fade, and her face behind her bandages turned grim. One free hand, that's all she'd needed. One hand to poke Stitch in the eye, steal the keys, then elbow him into unconsciousness. That had hurt, and her arm still ached from the effort.

Gram, poor old Gram, had flipped the chessboard away from him and had lunged for her. All it had taken was a kick to the jaw to put him down. She felt a little guilty hurting him like that – he didn't seem like he knew why he'd become a guard, after all – but the feeling quickly passed. She'd freed herself, then Malon and Princess Onyx. She hoped they'd found a way out.

Sheik had stayed. She had, after all, some unfinished business.

The remaining guards started to stir now, but it was far too late. She was too quick for them, her arrows bursting through their chests before they'd even managed to free their swords. They probably hadn't even registered the thought to do so. Sheik shifted her bow to the right. Steely Jay's panic-stricken face filled her sights.

Eyes narrowed, Sheik let her arrow fly.

_Got you._

The light arrow hit home. It tore through Steely Jay's neck with such force that it sheared his head straight from his shoulders. Sheik shot off another pair of arrows. A satisfying pair of _thuds _followed. In amongst the smoke and the fading screams, she realised that all but one of them men had fallen.

Count Xain, face rigid, pulled a crossbow from his waist. The draught tugged at a wisp of his hair. Sheik felt a little jolt at the sight of that weapon. Crossbows weren't her friends.

Xain fired.

Sheik threw herself forward into a falling roll, arms outstretched, then leapt up into a crouch, brought her bow to bear, aimed with one eye narrowed, and let her light arrow soar.

The Count ducked. The arrow flew harmlessly over his head, spilling light, then shattered the other mirrored wall. Slivers of molten glass rained down on the two of them. Their clothes sizzled. Xain raised his crossbow and fired just as Sheik let loose another arrow.

The dart of pure light burned into its wooden counterpart. An explosion of splinters followed.

The Count cast aside his weapon and lunged. Sheik let her bow clatter to the ground and leaned back, planting both her palms into the cold stone floor. She deflected Xain's attack with a sweeping kick to the jaw, but the Count managed to follow through, swinging in with a wild punch. Sheik dodged it, spinning elegantly off of the floor and into a leap.

The Count ploughed in as soon she'd landed, winding her with a punch to the gut. Grinning, he cracked his head into Sheik's face.

She collapsed with a grunt, head swimming. The world shifted in and out of focus in time with her every ragged breath. Cold fear ran in every single one of her veins.

Count Xain spat out a wad of blood, then curled his soft hands around Sheik's neck.

"Little girl," he breathed, chest heaving. "Did you really think you could best a high-born like me?" His mouth split into a crimson grin. "I have to thank you, though. I'm always looking for new experiences and this…well, this was just a peach."

Releasing her neck, the Count pinned her to the ground with one elbow, then grabbed her wrist. With his other hand, he pulled steel forceps from his belt. "Mother always told me to carry these around. Never know when I might need them, she said. Well. Now I know."

Sheik's eyes widened as the Count grasped one of her fingernails between the cold metal forceps. She convulsed instinctively, but he managed to jab with his elbow and hold her firm.

"Let's pull these off, shall we? One by one? Worth a lot, I think, fingernails are. Especially female ones. You wouldn't believe the twisted fetishes the nobility have. It'll be my last bit of business." Bloodstained saliva hung from his jaw. He pulled on the forceps; Sheik flinched, felt the sting of metal bite into her nail. "Maybe I'll turn over a new leaf, hmm? It's not money I wanted all along. It was the thrill. The thrill –"

Something hard _thunked _into the back of the Count's head. His eyes rolled, then he slumped to the ground.

Sheik scrambled backwards, blinking in confusion. She steadied her breathing and rubbed the tips of her trembling fingers. She looked up.

A young boy stood there, a plank of thick wood clutched in his hands. Breathing heavily, he looked just as surprised as Sheik felt.

She frowned. "Don't …don't I know you?"

"You – you were-" He cleared his throat. "My name's Sal."

Sheik blinked. The memory came to her all of a sudden. _The urchin! From yesterday!_

"I…I saw you sneak in here. This morning. I watched for hours. And when you didn't come out, I followed you in. You…you were…"

"What?" she asked softly.

His cheeks reddened. "You were kind to me." Sal dropped the plank and turned.

Sheik reached out a hand. "Wait!"

But Sal had already made good his escape.

With a sigh Sheik realised that she should do just the same.

…

"Bye!" Princess Onyx waved from her carriage, her lace-embroidered sleeve flapping in the wind. "Thank you!" Anne-Marie and Gil, all smiles, peeked out from another window.

Malon and Sheik waved back as Ben and Saria stood to one side.

Sheik watched the carriage clatter away. She felt glum. If it hadn't been for the boy Sal she probably would have ended up dead back at Steely Jay's storehouse. So much for being the Chosen One.

And she'd been right, too. Count Xain hadn't been afraid of her. She doubted Jay and his cronies had either. She may not want the ordinary Hylian to fear her like Princess Zelda had, but she'd hoped the corrupt and the criminal would. It implied respect.

Or something.

Sheik glanced at her friends. They had mostly everything they needed now. Furred coats, spiked boots, and they were leaving Castleton now to pick up some ponies. They were ready. Ready to go pay the Vor Shahal a little visit.

Sheik looked at Saria. The little Kokiri stared out at nothing, her face pinched. She hugged herself tightly, as though she were too afraid to let herself go.

"Are you going to be alright?" Sheik asked.

Hard jade eyes turned to regard Sheik. Saria's lower lip quivered. "I'm scared."

Sheik blinked, surprised. She didn't know what to say to that. She decided not to say anything; instead, she gave her Kokiri friend's shoulder a warm squeeze. Saria didn't seem to notice. She turned away, staring into the distance once again.

Sheik sighed. She gazed wistfully over at Hyrule Castle as it stood in the distance, shimmering under the noonday sun.

Malon sidled up to her. "Thinking about your Da?"

"Yes." Sheik didn't want to elaborate. She couldn't quite place why she was deathly afraid of letting her father see her like this. Would he be proud? Or, as was more likely, disappointed…?

Another sore corner of her heart pinched. Sheik's face frowned in response.

Malon noticed. "What is it?"

"Link. Impa," Sheik replied. "We never did get to bury them."

Malon took her by the hand. She squeezed. "Time to move forward, I think. Let's go."

…

Midnight in the Pariah District, and the regular patrons were all out in the busy streets. Exotic sights, exotic sounds, and exotic people, the Pariah District welcomed all and rejected few. In his little shop, Jav sat at the counter, bored, the sounds from the outside world muffled. His wares were far too expensive for the people of Pariah, but that wasn't why he was there, no. He was the eyes and ears of the Koholint Royal family, and damn proud of it, too.

He just needed something to do. Jav glanced over at the forgotten and broken harp lying on the floor. He rubbed his chin. Maybe he did need a new hobby.

In a dark corner of a back alley, Sal sat with a heel of bread he'd managed to procure through his usual means. Instead of wolfing it all down himself, though, he broke it into bits, and shared it out amongst his fellow urchins. A circle of them sat at his feet now, like disciples to a master. Sal smiled, satisfied.

Count Xain rubbed the bandage on the back of his head and looked up at the shop front. The etching carved on the door depicted two well-muscled men locked in a life-or-death physical struggle. The picture was bordered with decorations of evil-looking hooked swords and arrows dripping with what he assumed was viscous poison. Xain inhaled, and savoured the sweet taste of anticipation swirling over his tongue.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

No one heard the noise at first, so absorbed were the people of Pariah District in their usual activities. A couple of faces frowned. One or two people looked up, then dismissed the sound with a shrug.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

It was louder now, echoing around the streets, reverberating in every nook and cranny of the District. Ears pricked up. Conversation melted away.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Every single person looked up as one. Jav turned away from the harp with a frown. Sal paused, his hand stuck in mid-air just as he'd been about to hand over another lump of bread. Count Xain glanced around, halting, one booted foot already through the shop's open door.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

_TAP. ._

When the morning sun eventually pulled away the night's cloak of darkness, Pariah District stood silent and revealed. Signage creaked in the early breeze. Upturned glasses glistened in the fresh light. Rabid dogs patrolled the streets, sniffing at the hoard of new meat they'd just found.

Nothing else stirred.

There wasn't a single person left alive.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Sheik watched the immense ship plough through the choppy sea, wooden planks creaking as huge waves tossed the vessel up and down, a howling wind pummelling the large flax sails. A solitary figure stood on the bow, unfazed by the chaos all around him, framed against a background of dark, swirling clouds and with his black cloak streaming out behind. Jagged silver forks of lightning veined the sky overhead. A single star twinkled therein.

Another gargantuan wave caught the ship. It rose, vomited into the air by the surging water, and hung there for a split-second with its sails billowing, before plummeting back into the ocean with a tremendous crash. A vast spray of jade water crashed into the bow, drenching the man and the empty deck beyond. He didn't even flinch.

Sheik recognised him instantly.

_Link._

She felt her heart clench. His face grim, Link hadn't even noticed her presence. His blue eyes shone in the darkness and stared out into infinity. His hair fluttered as the stormy wind twined its way through it. An otherworldly howl hung in the air.

He blinked.

Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he turned to face her. Link opened his mouth to speak.

"There," he said. "I've almost reached –"

Sheik awoke with a start and sat up. The wind still screeched, but this time its source was a blizzard pounding against the shuttered windows, the glass rattling in its frame. She rubbed gummy sleep out of her eyes.

A dream. Nothing more than a dream.

And yet…

She swallowed and she was sure, absolutely _sure, _that she could taste salt water on her tongue. The skin on the exposed part of her face still stung from where the dream wind had knifed it. Or at least she thought it did. More than that, though, was the familiar presence she had felt, pulsing close to her heart, but now fading fast like a cooling stove. The presence of the Hero of Time himself.

Sheik closed her eyes.

No.

It _had_ to be a dream. Any other way led to madness.

After all, she hadn't been standing on that ship. She'd just been watching, like some disembodied all-seeing eye. That was typical, wasn't it? Typical dream behaviour.

She stretched. Her feet were still sore and cold. _Everything_ was cold this far north where the landscape was blanketed with pure white snow and their spiked boots still managed to slip sometimes on the featureless, icy terrain. It was a wonder that Saria knew for certain which direction they had to take.

But there it was. They'd reached this way station the previous night, the last human settlement, so Saria had said, before they would enter Vor Shahal territory. _That_ was another three day trek now that they'd had to leave their ponies behind at the last way station. Sheik had lost count of just how many days they'd travelled so far. It had felt like weeks. Perhaps it had been.

Each day had blurred into the next. Daylight brought a cold sun that almost blinded them as it reflected off of the snow. Twilight signified sleep, teeth chattering despite the furred coats that wrapped them up warm. Sheik's skin had reddened despite the protection, chilblains swelling up on her fingers and toes. She was sure she stank pretty rancid, too.

Pulling her furs tightly around herself, she looked up, ready to slip out of the hard bed. She paused. Ben was sitting up in the bed opposite, staring blankly and blinking.

Sheik frowned. "Ben…?"

Silence replied. The little boy still sat there, face absent. Sheik felt her heart begin to thud. "Ben?" she said again. "Hello…?"

The little boy's eyes focused in on her. "Did you see him?"

Cold, liquid disquiet dropped onto her heart. "See who?"

"The man," Ben replied, cocking his head to the side. His voice had an eerie edge to it, ghostly and ethereal. "The man on the ship. In the storm." Dark shadows stretched over his eyes. "He's coming."

Sheik's heart lurched. She slid out of her bed and went over to crouch beside the little boy. Her eyes searched his face for a moment. "Whatever do you mean?"

He turned to her, frowning. "The world," he said. "It's all wrong. Something's broken."

Heated voices rose from the floor below. Some sort of commotion was brewing. Still concerned, but unable to do anything about it, Sheik took Ben by the hand and gently pulled. "Come on."

A small winding staircase led to the equally petite dining room below, and the wooden steps shook with their march down. Sheik winced. Her feet hurt with every movement.

Malon and Saria sat at a table, half-eaten breakfast lying cold and forgotten before them. Instantly Sheik knew something had happened. Malon sat wide-eyed and ashen faced. Saria looked completely stricken.

The way station's sole proprietor, a plump Hylian woman who had nubs of flesh for earlobes due to frostbite, danced and cackled around the room, her gaudy shawl fluttering, a scrap of parchment clutched in her small hand.

Sheik reached the floor and directed her attention to the woman. "What's going on?"

"Eh?" Tarissa – that was the woman's name – stopped mid-dance and leaned forward. She grinned a yellow-toothed grin. "What's going on, you say? I'll tell you what, miss. Dereck, that's my dear departed husband, and our boy Jaq – they've both finally got their revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Died in the war, both of them did, don't you know. Filthy Gerudo gutted them both." Grief rippled over her features for a moment, then vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. "Now they can rest easy in their graves, so they can."

Sheik frowned. "I don't follow…"

Tarissa cackled. She shook the fist that held the parchment. "The war, miss! I just got word! The war is over! Ha!"

Sheik's frown deepened. "Over?" she asked softly. Her eyes caught her two friends with a glance, then shifted back to the other woman. "How?"

Tarissa smacked her lips in glee. "Well. King Harkinian – bless his soul – he sent out some sort of fancy-dancy expedition out into Gerudo lands, like. Wanted to know what the situation was and all that. Him being bedridden for so long. And you know what they found? D'you know?"

Sheik had a sinking sensation that she did, but she gestured for the woman to continue.

"Well," Tarissa said. "They found all the filthy disgusting scum _dead_." She brayed with high-pitched laughter. "Every single one of the bastards. Dead. But you know what the peachy bit was?"

Sheik blinked. "What?"

"They'd done away with themselves! Each and every one! Killed themselves! Hahaha!" Tarissa wiped a tear away from her cheek and sniffed. "That, miss, is justice. Just what those animals deserved. No doubt they heard that King Harkinian – bless his soul – was back and they realised that they were all in for the chop. Hard man, he is. Not like Princess Zelda, the poor mite. Bet they killed her, too. Now I can sleep soundly at night, so I can. Oh, I only wish I could visit my folks back in Castleton. The celebrating we would do…" Lost in her own happy thoughts, Tarissa bustled off to the kitchen.

Numb, Sheik slid into a chair beside her two friends. Ben followed suit, sitting beside Malon who absently ruffled his hair.

Sheik looked at the both of them. "The Sorrow?"

It felt redundant asking, but she felt compelled to have it out in the open. Saria, eyes downcast, nodded in response, then said, "If it's this bad, then it's getting close to the end."

_The end. _Saria had said that the Sorrow heralded the very end of the world. Sheik hadn't even considered what that truly meant until now. An entire race had just been wiped out. _Wiped out! _She felt an icy tremble run down her spine.

Saria still hadn't looked up. "The Gerudo. They thought that their whole purpose was to be the last line of defence against the Sorrow. It's what they lived for. What they prided themselves on."

Sheik didn't quite know how to respond to that. She no longer hated the desert people, true, but to offer comfort to her friend seemed somehow a betrayal. The Gerudo had been the Hylians mortal enemies, after all.

_Oh, why so clinical? She's lost __**both**__ her people!_

Another thought struck her, one that brought sadness to her heart: _Nabooru._

Sheik reached out a hand and touched Saria's. Her skin was cold. The Kokiri girl suddenly flinched, looking up with eyes wide. Sheik started. She drew back, bewildered. "What?" she said. "What is it?"

"I…" Confusion swirled in Saria's eyes. She blinked once and it was gone. "Nothing. Sorry. It was nothing."

Sheik was unconvinced, but decided not to press the issue. Malon broke the awkward silence.

"So, now what?" she said, her voice low. "The Kokiri and the Gerudo are gone. At this rate, nothing and no one will be left by the time we find these Sheikah of yours."

"We press on," Saria replied, visage grim. "The moment this blizzard drops we're going."

"And you're sure and all that we're getting help where we're going?"

Saria hesitated before replying. "Truth? I don't know what we're going to find there. But what choice do we have, Malon?"

The ranch woman shrugged. "I was just thinking, that's all. These 'Vor Shahal' haven't really been very active in the world, have they? And they seem to be just content keeping themselves to themselves."

Saria exhaled slowly. "Like I said…I don't know what we'll find. But we have Zel – I mean, _Sheik_ – with us. And if they've really chosen her, then they're going to respect her, right?"

They both looked at Sheik who blinked in surprise. She didn't have the faintest clue as to what they expected her to say. It's not like she was awfully friendly with the Lost Sheikah, was she?

"Let's see how it goes," Sheik replied cautiously. "Saria's got it right. We're in a terrible pickle and don't have much choice."

A sudden snicker of amusement floated into the air. Both Malon and Sheik looked at Saria in surprise. For a wonder, she actually smiled in response. It had been so long that she'd done so that they'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

Her smile widened. "Terrible pickle?" she said. "_Terrible pickle?" _She tittered again. "Only you would describe the end of the world like that."

Sheik found herself grinning in response. Suddenly something broke deep inside her soul, a cold dam of ice that had frosted over part of her heart, and she began shaking with laughter. Pretty soon, Malon joined in. Sheik felt a light airiness float up in her soul that, dimly, made her realise only now just how tightly wound up she'd been inside.

"Hey, that's right," Tarissa called from the back. "That's how I expected you to react. We won the war, you know! Hahaha! Laugh it up!"

And that made them laugh all the harder.

Maybe it wasn't so appropriate, but none of them seemed to care, especially Sheik. It felt good. Felt good to let it all go. Felt good, too, to be with her friends.

Sheik sniffed, wiping away the tears watering her eyes. Her gaze fell on Ben, and her good mood began to evaporate. The little boy hadn't joined in on their merriment. In fact, he just sat there, cool and calm, staring out into nothingness. She began to reach over to him –

- when the world disappeared. A swirling darkness replaced it, an infinite obsidian sea that stretched out in all six directions. Strange glowing symbols flashed in and out of existence, shimmering like reflections on a pond. Some were in a script she recognised: the word _CHOSEN, _repeated over and over, and _STORM STAR_, making brief appearance. And, there, just at the very edge of her hearing, she heard the creak of a ship, and the crash of waves, getting closer and closer and –

The world returned. Sheik pushed away from the table and bolted to her feet, her breathing heavy.

"Zelda…?" Malon said, suddenly confused.

Sheik looked from one friend to the other. "Did you see that?" she said, voice frantic. "Did either of you see that?"

Saria's brow creased. "No…"

"See what?" Malon asked.

Sheik opened her mouth to reply, but Ben cut in. "It's broken. She saw where the world has broken," he said, his voice ghostly yet again. "It's how the Sorrow gets in." They all turned to him as one. "We can all see it when we sleep."

Malon gave his shoulder a gentle touch. "Ben…? What do you mean?"

He blinked rapidly, and suddenly the colour returned to his cheeks. He gazed around, confused. "What's happening? Malon?" His voice – and general demeanour – had returned to normal.

Malon clutched the little boy's hand. She glanced up at Sheik, eyes filled with concern. Sheik held her gaze for a heartbeat, then turned to Saria. "The moment the blizzard drops then."

Saria nodded.

…

Snow crunched under her spiked boots. The blizzard had long passed now, and the time had come for them to finally depart. Saria stood outside the way station waiting for the rest of her friends, wrapped in furs, two scarves, furred gloves and a woollen hat. She still felt cold, and it had little to do with the climate.

The Sorrow bubbled under the surface of her mind and fed on the chilled, empty void she felt at the very centre of her heart. Both the Kokiri and the Gerudo were now gone. She was alone. Adrift. How she dearly wished now that the Sorrow had taken her whole, like it did with its other victims, and had just brought her life to a swift end.

The heat and strength of that desire surprised her. Drained her, too. She no longer felt that she had the energy to feel angry with Princess Zelda. Or the energy to do much else, either. Saria just wanted this whole ordeal to be over. Find the Storm Star and end the Sorrow. It would end _her_ sorrow, too. She could flee, live out in the wild, away from any other living being.

Saria smiled at her own melodramatic thoughts.

She stamped her feet to bring a little heat to her muscles. A light mist had draped itself over the land. Sometimes the sun would peek through, and when it did, it touched the snow and made it glint gold with fractured light. The lack of visibility had worried Sheik, but Saria wasn't that concerned.

Her gloved hand fell to the bulging pouch on her belt. She could feel the hard contours of the ruby within. It still had its uses, even though Saria could no longer hide under the veil of Vela anymore. At her touch, the ruby thrummed, and she felt her heart incline to a heading north-east. There she'd find the Vor Shahal. She was certain that that was what the jewel was trying to tell her.

There was that other matter that the ruby had told her about, too, the matter that had so shocked and puzzled her earlier in the day. Before his death, the jewel would help her hone in on Link's presence. So why had it done exactly that when Sheik had touched her hand at breakfast? Not only had she felt a sudden flare of his presence, but she'd seen too that the presence had centred itself on Sheik herself.

Perhaps she'd imagined it. It _had_ only been for a moment. Try as she might, her heart couldn't find Link now.

Her musings broke as the door opened and Sheik, Ben and Malon – all dressed in similar protection to herself – spilled out. Malon, her cheeks pinched red, had a tray laden with steaming pastries.

"I badgered Tarissa into letting me use her stove," the ranch woman explained, grinning. "Had to butter her up like you have to do to the horses back on the ranch." She nodded down at her tray. "This'll warm you all up. I used to bake these for Da when it got all frosty in the winter. Go on, take one!"

Malon was a giddy as a young maiden, and Saria had to laugh at that. It was good to see her so happy. Saria had to remind herself that she wasn't the only one grieving, wasn't the only one that was nursed a myriad losses within.

She took one of the flaky pastries and took a bite. Hot, spicy juice scented with cinnamon ran over her tongue and trickled down her throat. Saria closed her eyes and savoured the sensation. "It's good," she mumbled through her chewing jaws. "It's really good!"

Malon grinned again, then turned to Sheik and Ben. She curtseyed playfully in front of the princess, and Sheik laughed. Saria felt her heart begin to warm as she watched her friends. They could get through this. They really, really –

A steel flail whipped out of the mist. The spiked ball at its tip smashed straight through Malon's still smiling face. Hot liquid sprayed all over Saria and her friends, and dyed the snow scarlet. Ben roared as Malon collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap, her tray hitting the snow with a soft _whumph._

Saria and Sheik spun around.

A trio of shadows stepped out of the mist and into their path.

The Ruination had found them.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Silence reigned.

As Sheik shoved Ben to safety behind her, she noticed that there wasn't a single sound in the entire world, as though the very air itself had frozen. Willowreed and Jon Skysmith bore slowly down on them, nary a word between them, their boots gently kissing the snow beneath. Saria had already exploded into a hard run, Macabre, the big Goron, on her heels.

The mist had now dissipated – had the Ruination somehow been the source of it? – and the cold sun glared with sparkling light. Sheik had to squint as she pulled her bow free with a soft leathery sigh. Giving Ben another shove, Sheik aimed, a light arrow coming to life on the string. It flew.

They were fast. Too fast. Somehow, Sheik knew they would be. The Ruination wouldn't be so easily defeated.

As Skysmith and Willowreed whirled away to safety, Sheik's arrow ploughed into the snow with a hint of a whisper. Willowreed raised her flail, a thin smile etched on her face, then began to swing. The steel blurred, yet still no sound carried on the air.

Sheik backed away slowly, past the squat shape of the way station, pushing a stumbling Ben along with her. She glanced over at Malon's corpse, but she felt nothing register in her heart. There was no more time for grief. Sheik wondered if she even had the energy anymore.

Willowreed and Skysmith stalked them with the casual ease of seasoned hunters who knew that they had their prey well in hand. The Hylian swordsman licked his lips. "You know have no hope," he said. A wisp of steam rose from his mouth. "No-one escapes the Ruination."

"Least of all," the Zora woman added, contempt thick in her voice. "A girl, a Kokiri and a small boy."

Despair clutched Sheik's heart. She knew, with iron-clad certainty, that they were right. She was an idiot to think that she could ever hope to battle monsters such as these two, never mind the Sorrow itself. Desperation made her lips move.

"Help us," she said. Her mind raced, searching for words. "There's something out there. Bigger than all of us. The Sorrow. It…it's awful. It compels people…it seduces them…makes them…"

"Makes them what, girl?" Willowreed said, chuckling. She and her leader edged closer. The spiked metal orb twirling above their heads glinted briefly as it caught the light of the sun.

Sheik swallowed. "Pain. Here." She tapped her heart. "So bad that they think the only way out…" – she sighed – "…is to die. At their own hands." She swallowed again. "I'll pay you. I have the money. If you help us-"

Something flickered in Skysmith's eye, but the Zora woman just threw back her head and laughed. "Pay us?" she said. "You? Well, if people are so desperate to die, maybe you can pay us to kill _them. _But to fight shadows and ghost stories? No, thank you. And, besides, we have rules. We don't take counter-offers from a target." She turned to the Hylian. "Isn't that right, Jon?"

But Skysmith wasn't listening. Instead, a frown hung from his face. "I think…" he began, "I saw something. At Hyrule Castle. All the people there were dead. At, as you say, their own hands."

Giddy hope rose in Sheik's heart as she took another step back. "Then you know I'm telling the truth! You know you can –"

Ben yelped. Sheik spun her head around – just in time to see the little boy fall away down a snowy slope. Sheik tried to grind her heel into the ground, but it was too late. She slipped, stumbled, her ankle slightly twisting with a painful wrench, then tumbled down, down, down, a flurry of powdery snow in silent pursuit.

…

Saria ran, spiked boots kicking up slivers of ice, but she knew only too well that their cause was lost. She knew far too much about the Ruination – from her time as Vela – to be stupid enough to kindle any flicker of hope in her heart. Secretly, she'd imagined that they'd outrun the mercenaries, or that, wonder of wonders, the trio had simply given up on them. As they'd travelled, Saria had told her friends to keep close to the skirts of the myriad mountains they'd encountered, to sleep under rocky outcroppings, to be anywhere except out in the open. If they'd met the Ruination then they'd have had some sliver of a chance, with the terrain as an ally. But here, out and exposed as she'd feared, they'd be easy pickings.

_I don't even have a sword! What was I thinking? How blind was I? To think we'd just saunter up to the Vor Shahal unhindered! _

The Sorrow gorged on her dark state of mind, and she felt its fingers rise through her every nerve. Saria knew that this was the end. And she knew exactly what she had to do.

She flicked a glance over her shoulder. The way station was fast receding in the distance. Macabre, his spiked hammer resting on his shoulder, followed her at a gentle trot. He was toying with her. He could afford to. Her old Gerudo self would've been outraged at the insult. Now the only thing that fed her heart and mind was cold fear.

Saria's legs ached, every tendon sore and aflame, but she wouldn't let up. Her instincts had kicked in as soon as the Ruination had appeared. By peeling away from Sheik and Ben, she'd managed to split the mercs up. It was a little thing, sure, but, damn it, it was _something._ Now she had to draw the Goron as far away from her friends as possible. Who knows? That little splinter of an advantage might give them a chance to flee unharmed.

_Not likely._

Again the despair clung like tar to her heart, and again the Sorrow thrummed with approval. She hated it and, for a heartbeat, hated herself, too.

The Vor Shahal taught of the Jade Palaces of Bliss – beyond the scope of any mortal's imagination – where those judged worthy would enter, and of the cold depths of the Pit, where the wretched and the base would fall. How would she be judged, she wondered?

_Let's find out, shall we?_

Snow plumed from her heels as she skidded to a halt. Breathing heavily, Saria turned around. Deep inside she felt the Sorrow writhe and surge. She bit down on her lip and focused, determined to harness it. The Sorrow wanted her, did it? Well, now, she wanted it. A flash of insight had come to her from her ruby, a message, an intuition on how she could finally be free from being the Herald of the Sorrow. She'd been the Sorrow's pawn, now it would do her bidding.

Macabre slowed, his bronze face wrinkled in befuddlement. It was funny, Saria reflected, on how the normally jovial Goron face had been so twisted on this creature. His brow furrowed.

"Giving up?" he growled.

Saria nodded, her every muscle locked and tense. Despite the cold she could feel a slick film of sweat lining the palms inside her gloves. She saw, in her mind's eye, the Sorrow as a swirling black orb at the centre of an immense void. Her mind clamped down hard on the image. Held it. Tightened its grip. The pressure grew.

Macabre towered over her, eyes narrowed. He lifted his hammer.

Saria braced herself, choked down on the shakes that threatened to engulf her body.

_Please. The pain here – let it wipe away all the pain I caused. Let this sacrifice be enough._

She squeezed her eyes shut. The Sorrow pulsed and throbbed within. A whisper of the wind told her that the blow was coming and, at the very last instant, she screamed and let the Sorrow go flying free.

…

Macabre grunted as the Kokiri girl crumpled to the ground with just a single swing of his thorned hammer. He sniffed. As kills went, that had to rate as one of the most unsatisfying. A shame he didn't like them so young, or else he could have added a little sugar to the spice as well.

Macabre frowned as he wiped his weapon clean. The girl's blood was black – darker than the night itself – thick and viscous like tar. He glanced at the corpse. More of the black stuff oozed into the snow, creeping slowly away from the girl and –

Macabre blinked, surprised. He shook his head. This wasn't right. Not right at all.

The black blood seemed to be threading its way through the snow and heading straight for him.

He suppressed a shiver, then quickly glanced around to make sure he'd not been seen. He was the Scion of Death Mountain, butchering a quarter of Goron Tribe before he'd been finally stopped and exiled. He didn't shiver.

Macabre remembered his time in Death Mountain. He was Darunia's nephew, and the chief hadn't had the heart to put him to death. The old fool.

He'd prayed for the day that someone would hire the Ruination to put the weak, decrepit patriarch to death, but it hadn't come. Sure, Macabre could have done it himself, but Jon Skysmith had been the only one who had taken him in, the only one who had accepted him after his exile and, in a twisted sense of honour Macabre hadn't even realised he'd had, he had decided to live by the Hylian's rules. For now.

No unnecessary kills for no payment, that was one of those rules. Macabre had his own set of rules. One was that he wasn't spooked by phantasms and tricks of the mind. Another was that he never, ever shivered.

Macabre lifted his foot. A little of the goop had stuck to the sole of his boot and, with a disgusted snarl, he tried to shake it off. It stuck fast, cloying and clinging.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Macabre looked up, his ears alert. He glanced here and there. There was no-one in sight, nothing that could have made that noise. Only the empty, blinding white landscape stared back at him.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

An image flitted into Macabre's mind. He remembered himself as a baby, laughing and squealing as his dear old uncle had thrown him soaring into the air, then had caught him with his big, meaty arms. Macabre remembered how safe he'd felt. Safe, and happy.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The image morphed. Now an older Darunia gazed up at Macabre, the patriarch's face weary with pain and disappointment. Macabre stood within a halo of burning and spitting torches while cloaked Gorons with stern faces encircled him. Darunia's lips moved. A single drum banged, signifying the passing of a solemn judgement.

Macabre blinked. Instead of the rage-fuelled defiance he remembered, the Goron now felt something else as he recalled the memory, something different. He gazed at Darunia's face and felt a sharp sense of sadness cut him deep to the soul. Guilt weighed down at him, guilt and sorrow. How he now wished things had been different, how he wished he'd had the chance to make amends…

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Faces now swirled around him. Faces contorted in despair, terror and excruciating pain. Each one fell upon his heart like a hammer bow, adding further to the weight of sorrow and guilt that now threatened to pull him under, threatened to drown him with inner pain. The faces danced in his mind's eye, danced to the tune of his own mocking laughter.

His trembling hands raised his spiked hammer.

Macabre gasped. "What kind of a monster am I?"

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He could hear the moans and screams of his victims, rolling and roaring through his ears. More than that, he could hear the wail of his very first kill, the one that had snapped something deep within, the one that had set free his blood lust.

"Baby brother…"

Macabre's face was wet with tears. He looked down at his hammer and felt his palms snap shut around its wooden shaft.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Guilt, pain and sorrow. Macabre knew nothing else. Hammer raised, he saw his own reflection staring back at him from one of the polished steel spikes. He saw the face of that Goron and hated him. Hated him intently.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The first blow punctured his eye and lodged the hammer deep into his face. With a presence of mind that would have awed a lesser man, Macabre pulled the weapon free, then ploughed it in again.

Oblivion welcomed him.

…

This was the end.

Sheik pulled Ben to his feet with one hand, her other arm occupied with her bow as it hung by its string. Whatever wood the Vor Shahal had made her weapon out of, it was clearly some stern stuff. The ache in her ankle had subsided, but she still managed to slip, her knees sliding in the snow. Ice-cold air rushing down her throat, Sheik hauled herself up and dragged Ben along with her.

A rearward glance told her that Skysmith and Willowreed were sliding easily down the slope. Sheik swallowed. This really was the end. She didn't know what had possessed her to negotiate with the mercs – they'd been the ones who had dealt the Hero of Time his death blow, after all - but whatever it was, it had given her a tiny grain of extra time. It wouldn't be enough. All her pretensions to being the Chosen One were now melting as fast as the snow beneath her boots.

Sheik screamed in frustration. Letting go of Ben's hand, she swung around, bringing her bow to bear. Twin darts of light flew from the string. Willowreed arced her back, graceful as a cat, and the arrow shot through the empty air above. Jon Skysmith whirled in mid-air, up and over her second arrow, then landed easily on his feet. At any other time, Sheik would have been awed.

She stumbled backward, her eyes falling on Ben's face. He seemed to be in a trance again, his eyes clear and unfocused.

"He's coming," the little boy whispered. He looked up at Sheik. "But not to our world."

"What?" Sheik replied, distracted. Her eyes had flown back to their pursuers. Fingers clasping shut around her bow, Sheik fumed in silence. Just one shot, that's all she needed. One shot on target to each of them, and this would be all over.

Jon Skysmith drew his sword. Sheik had nothing but her bow. She couldn't fight both of them. She glanced down at Ben, then back up at the mercs. Her heart contracted in pain. Her ankle followed suit, and she knew then that she wouldn't be able to outrun them, either.

"Please," she said, her voice somehow finding an inner reserve of strength and authority. "Let the boy go. Then I'll fight you. Two on one. You'll win, of course. But just…let him go."

Skysmith cocked his head to one side. "The problem is," he said, slowing as he approached. "You were never part of the deal. You were never one of our targets. In fact, I have no idea where you came from. I have a feeling, though, that you were the one who was responsible for Skellow's death. Am I correct?"

Sheik held her ground. Somewhere in the back of her mind she began to wonder what death would feel like. "That's right," she said. "So let Ben go and I'll give you a fight."

Skysmith shrugged. "You're not listening. You're not a target. In fact, I'll be generous. I'll grant you something I've never granted to anyone else before." He held her gaze for a heartbeat. "If you walk away, turn around and not look back, then you and the Ruination never have to cross paths again. This, I promise." He gestured at Ben with sword. "It's the boy I want. Though, I have to admit, I am curious. Curious as to how you bested Skellow so…thoroughly. Curious as to where you got that bow. And curious as to where exactly you were going."

"To stop the Sorrow," Sheik replied. "I told you."

"So you did." The Hylian smiled. "Apologies."

Flakes of snow began to drift into Sheik's eyes. "Don't you care?" Her voice echoed. A sinking sense of hopelessness began to make her every muscle sag. "The Sorrow will come for you, too."

"For my sins?" Skysmith replied, the corner of his mouth upturned. "I've heard that one before."

Willowreed's boots crunched softly as she came to a stop. Skysmith followed shortly thereafter. They were about five arm spans away from Sheik and Ben.

"You're making a terrible mistake," Sheik said, her voice soft.

Willowreed smiled an icy smile. "We'll be the judge of that, shall we?"

Sheik bundled Ben behind her once again. The little boy mumbled something, then felt silent. Sheik raised her bow. A thin sliver of light began to form on its string. "I won't make it easy for you."

Both Willowreed and Skysmith smiled. They raised their weapons.

Sheik braced herself, one eye narrowing to aim.

The Ruination moved forward –

Then stepped into twin pillars of fire that swirled up out of the ground with a roar. Sheik yelled and flung both her and Ben back into the cold ground. Shielding her eyes, she looked up. Willowreed and Skysmith writhed in the winding flames, their mouths hanging silently open, their bodies blackened. Then, like the abrupt snuffing of a candle, the pillars of flame vanished, leaving only twin trails of grey smoke behind.

Silence reigned once again. Sheik's eyes darted around in confusion, the roar of the fire still ringing in her ears, her heart still thudding with fear. She clutched Ben's hand, but the little boy seemed to be lost in his own world.

A rustle of fabric followed, along with a blur of motion. Sheik gazed up at the shadow that had just then fell across her face. There were three of them, dressed in an array of different colours, all with faces half-wrapped, all with the same glowing crimson eyes.

One of them stepped forward. His voice, when it came, was as soft as silk and barely an octave above a whisper.

"We, the Vor Shahal, greet you," he said, holding out a gloved hand. "And welcome you, you who are the Chosen One."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Sheik remembered little of the days that followed her first encounter with the Vor Shahal. She recalled a draining hike up a winding mountain trail they'd undertaken, what, a few days ago? No, weeks. No, _months_. She just couldn't remember.

She _did_ recall her three Vor Shahal rescuers marching gracefully ahead while she herself had slipped and stumbled, Ben's little hand clutched in hers. No-one had spoken. The Vor Shahal rescue party had had nothing to say. Sheik wondered if it was from them that Link had learned to be so guarded with his tongue.

Clear blue ice had fractured beneath her boots and a ribbon of cold snow had swirled in front of her squinting eyes. A canopy of immense trees had hemmed the path in on either side, trees made entirely out of sparkling frost, catching a myriad different colours in their branches, breathtaking in their simple beauty. Had the Lost Tribe of the Sheikah fashioned these trees with their own hands?

Another memory followed. Her breath, quite literally this time, stolen from her as she'd made her awe-struck approach to the Vor Shahal fortress itself.

There'd been the bridge first, though. _The Sliver of the Eye_, the Vor Shahal had named it in a rare moment of sociability. It was an impossibly thin, improbably fragile, stone bridge stretched out over an immense, dark canyon. Fear had propelled her onwards, step by agonising step. There hadn't been a single sound except for the scuffing of their boots and the leathery flap of wings from the strange birds, themselves the glacial colour of ice and snow, swooping lazily overhead.

Another path had greeted them on the other side, this one marked by a series of archways each larger than the last. She had felt so tiny and insignificant as she'd passed under that first stone arch, itself twice as tall as the Temple of Time back home. She'd shivered as she'd spied the single eye emblem of the Sheikah. It seemed to be watching her every movement. Silly, yes. But she just couldn't shake off the feeling.

The path had then opened out, revealing the ancient Vor Shahal home. She'd just stood there, staring, mouth agog. Expertly carved into the mountain itself, its many chambers burrowing deep into the natural rock formations therein, the fortress dwarfed any structure that Sheik could ever remember seeing. Why hadn't Impa known about this place? And why hadn't Princess Zelda's spies discovered it?

Another thought had struck her then. Maybe Impa _had_ known. Maybe that was how the Hero of Time had found the place.

Time passed. The Vor Shahal had given her and Ben a chamber of their own. Food and water had come regularly, and they'd even had had a chance to each bathe in scented water, followed by a badly needed change of clothes. Sheik noticed that her new outfit was identical to her old. The Lost Tribe of the Sheikah had claimed her as one their own, and seemed to have little interest in letting her go.

She felt a tide of hope at that. Maybe she could stay here, learn their ways, then go out into the world as Hyrule's new Hero. Maybe she could make amends for all the people that had died in order for her to make this journey.

Hope was a strange thing, Sheik mused. If it had no solid foundation then it was so very easily crushed. She didn't think she could bear something like that. Not anymore.

She'd been given the freedom of the fortress. Wherever she went, though, she saw very little of the Vor Shahal themselves. They seemed very much to keep themselves to themselves. She wondered if that was why Link had valued his own privacy so much.

_But he'd been like that even before he'd met the Vor Shahal._

She talked to Ben, of course, but there was very little she could glean from him that would satisfy her need for company. And, besides, though he wouldn't share them with her, she knew he nursed his own griefs. Princess Zelda had always had Impa. If she'd needed more than that, she'd had Malon, too. Here, Sheik felt very much alone.

And so she'd wandered the corridors and passageways of the Vor Shahal fortress. She recalled once walking into a bare, featureless room. Spying the Sheikah sitting there in cross-legged silence, she'd muttered some hasty apologies, then had begun to back away. Realising quickly that the warrior hadn't even acknowledged her presence, Sheik had decided to stay. And watch.

Hours that man had sat like that, rock-solid, and without even a hint of life. Sheik had even begun to wonder if he _had _died, just sitting there, doing nothing. She'd slumped to the ground in fatigue, her eyes drooping. Then, suddenly, a wall had opened with a throaty growl, and a white-clad figure had leapt into the room, sword at the ready. Sheik had jumped in fright.

The Sheikah warrior had merely swept up to his feet, cloak awhirl, and had neatly skewered the attacker with his own blade. Then, as though he'd done nothing more than swat a fly, he swiftly sat back down, absorbed in his meditation again. The corpse had then vanished – it had been nothing more than a phantasm.

Sheik wondered when her own training would begin. After all, she was the Chosen One and they would clothe her in their own mystic skills, right?

_Right?_

Another day later, she'd come across a lone Vor Shahal and, in a sudden fit of frustration, Sheik had let loose, chiding and complaining, wanting to know what they wanted with her and why they were keeping her, a princess, waiting.

The Vor Shahal – this one female – had gazed back at Sheik with those large, blinking red eyes and that maddening patience. With a soft voice that Sheik had to struggle to hear, the Vor Shahal girl apologised and explained that their leader would call for Sheik soon. She'd then excused herself and had left Sheik alone in the passageway. The one-time princess had ached at the girl's absence. It had, after all, been the first time anyone had spoken properly to her for such a long time.

She wouldn't leave, though. She couldn't, for one thing, she didn't know where to go. But now she was here she was determined to see things through. Sheik was the Chosen One. She had to live up to that title. And she needed the Vor Shahal to help her do that.

Yet another time Sheik had heard a disembodied voice floating in the air, a voice in her native Hylian. _The man, forever enraged, _it said. _All it took was a huge disappointment early in life, a blow only made large because his disappointment was commensurate to the immense hope and expectation he'd held. Ever since that moment he held eternal anger at every little thing._

And then the memories faded, and Sheik awoke to the sound of tapping. Gently shaking Ben awoke from his bedroll, she walked across the cold floor and opened the door to her chamber.

A female Vor Shahal gazed at her from the passageway beyond. "Vor Primum will see you now," she said warmly.

Sheik blinked. "Vor Primum?"

"The first of the Vor Shahal," the Sheikah said. Then, as though sensing Sheik's confusion, she added, "Our leader."

_At last! _ Hope made Sheik's back stiffen. "I'm ready." She glanced back at Ben. "We both are."

"Not yet you're not."

The girl opened the door and a flurry of what Sheik assumed were maidservants walked in. They sat Sheik down, then began massaging strange-smelling oils into her forehead and hands. Sheik waited in patience and pondered. Link, Saria, Nabooru, Malon – all gone. She wondered how long it would be before the rest of her friends fell. What if, even now, the Sorrow had bewitched both Ruto and Darunia?

_How has it come to this awful impasse? We were all so very strong against Ganondorf. How could we all have fallen with such terrible ease?_

The maidservants stood her up. Sheik looked at the messenger girl. Approval shone in the female Sheikah's eyes. "Now you are ready," she said. "Follow, please. Both of you."

They did.

If the exterior of the Vor Shahal fortress was a thing of wonder, it was equally matched by its interior. Sheik's eyes took in the strange angles, the bizarre colours, the hypnotic concentric patterns, and again found herself awed.

The corridors were illuminated by some sort of glittering crystal perched in various sconces at regular intervals in the wall. They needed no oil and held no flame, but the light they gave outshone any lantern or lamp back home. Awfully puzzling, certainly, and that wasn't the only thing, either. The whole fortress, despite its location, somehow managed to be as warm and pleasant as a summer's day. Where and how they were heating the place, she didn't know. Though she _had_ noticed that her own chamber was colder than many of the rest. She wondered why that was.

_It's as though they're not expecting me to stay too long._

Her thoughts were interrupted by the Vor Shahal girl stopped in front of a curtained opening. Sheik stared at the doorway, her anticipation rising. The girl whistled a short tune – a signal, Sheik realised – and then waited. And waited.

And waited.

By the time the return summons came, Sheik's legs felt like lead and her tunic rubbed against her skin with an awful itch. Hunger gnawed at her stomach as well. She had to admire little Ben, though. He hadn't even complained once.

The Sheikah girl swept the curtain aside, and then gestured. "Enter," she said. "And be at peace."

Sheik and Ben took a few cautious steps within. The girl didn't follow them, instead pulling the curtain shut to leave them to their privacy. Candles shone in the room, giving the whole chamber a molten orange glow, much like King Harkinian's chambers back in the castle. A single bowl of steaming liquid sat perched on a stool. Sheik gave it a brief glance, then looked up.

A Vor Shahal male sat in the room's solitary chair. His deep brown cloak enveloped him whole, and his scarlet eyes were clear and sharp. Sheik, as Princess Zelda, had been in the presence of hundreds of dignitaries, all dressed in the finest of clothes, all puffed up with pride and self-importance. Here, in this simple room, in this Sheikah's presence, she had never felt more awed.

"Sit," Vor Primum said in perfect Hylian. He gestured at the steaming bowl. "Drink."

Sheik recognised the voice. It had been whispered in her mind when Princess Zelda had passed and Sheik had woken in her stead. She remembered the words, too. _The Vor Shahal have chosen you, Sheik of the Sheikah_.

Swallowing, Sheik knelt in front of the stool, Ben sitting closely behind. Her heart tingled, and she could feel hot blood pump in her ears. Nervous. She felt so nervous.

She gave Ben a quick glance. The little boy had his lips pressed together in a brave attempt at a smile. "I'm okay," he said.

Sheik smiled in response. She didn't have any more words of comfort to offer him. He hadn't even asked for any. Whatever hurt he held due to Malon's death he kept it locked deep inside. She knew that wasn't good, but she didn't know what to do about it either.

"Yes," Vor Primum said, as though reading into her mind. "The boy is a strange one, is he not? Somehow he's caught a sight of the world beyond, and it has possessed him."

Sheik frowned. "I don't follow, sorry."

The Sheikah warrior smiled. "No, you don't." He pulled a stopper from a crystal goblet, then poured dark liquid into a wooden mug. He took a sip, then flicked a finger toward the steaming bowl again. "Drink."

Sheik clutched the bowl with both her hands. Steam wafted into her face, her nose twitching from all the exotic scents. She lifted the hot, sloshing liquid to her lips, then let it run down her throat. It was a soup of some kind, or maybe a gravy, but delicious whatever it was, with long strings of fatty meat threading through her teeth. Briefly she wondered what animals they had up here and in such a climate.

Sheik turned to give the bowl to Ben – there was more than enough left - then wiped her mouth unprincesslike with her sleeve. "It's good," she breathed. "Thank you."

Vor Primum leaned back in his chair. "I trust your time here has been to your satisfaction, Princess Zelda?"

"Yes," Sheik replied, frowning slightly at the mention of her old name. "Your people have been very hospitable."

_Though not very social_, she thought, but didn't dare say aloud.

"Good," the Sheikah warrior replied. "Then let me explain now our purpose here for you." He paused for a heartbeat, then: "We are the Vor Shahal," he said. "We were old when your people first appeared in the world. We were ancient when even those who called themselves our descendents - the Sheikah - first wrote down the jewels of their wisdom. We were there at the world's beginning and we will be there at its end. We have watched the world sprout, and grow, and develop, and we have watched _you_, Princess Zelda."

Sheik sat transfixed. "I understand."

"Do you?" he asked, chuckling. It was a warm sound, and odd to Sheik's ears after so long without conversation. "Are you familiar with the Gerudo game of chess, Your Highness?"

"I am," she replied, responding to his tone of voice with a learned formality of her own.

"An apt metaphor for this world, don't you think? Pieces pushed around a board by an unseen hand for a wholly strategic purpose." He paused to take a long sip from his mug. "Except we, the Vor Shahal, are the ones who are manipulating the board. The world is but a crucible, a testing ground to sort the wheat from the chaff."

"Manipulating?" Sheik asked, surprised. Her head began to whirl as she tried to follow the warrior's words. "What do you mean?"

Vor Primum smiled a humourless smile. "We were there when the world was born, and we were not alone. Not alone at all." His voice dropped. "The Sorrow, Princess Zelda, the Sorrow was there with us, too. Waiting. _Wanting_. Raging with its terrible hunger. We saw it, and knew its purpose. We vowed then to end it. That would be our sole reason for existence. That would earn us a place in the Jade Palaces of Bliss.

"True, other races, later, would swear the same oath. We were the only ones, though, who knew – who _know_ – how to stop the Sorrow."

_Other races. Such as the Gerudo. Were we Hylians the only ones with a veil over our knowledge?_

Sheik felt a muscle twitch in her leg. She was starting to go numb from sitting that still for so long. Still she didn't even want to move an inch, in case she missed something vitally important. Many people had died for her to come this far. She wasn't going to let them down now.

"Death comes to all living things," Vor Primum continued. "There is this life, where we are now. There's the next life, where all souls and spirits reach their final destination – whether the Jade Palaces, or the cold Pit. And, then, there is the place in between, the place where spirits first enter upon their bodily death. The Shadowspace. There, the soul rests, waiting for its final outcome. Usually. Now the Sorrow resides there in physical form, corrupting it, twisting it to its own purpose. From there, it bleeds into our world."

"I think I've seen the Shadowspace," Sheik said hurriedly. "I think I saw Link there. My…friend. The Hero of Time. He was – is – the Soul of Courage there."

"Link," Vor Primum said. "Yes. Hyrule's Hero came to us, the man named Link. We took him in and filled his heart with our secrets. We asked but one thing in return – that he be the Valiarch, the one that would traverse the Shadowspace and slay the Sorrow there. Despite all the powers and resources at our disposal, we learnt that the Valiarch, and only the Valiarch, could do that deed."

Sheik frowned. "And Link refused? Really?"

"Ah," Vor Primum replied. "Being the Valiarch has but one caveat: He has to be ignorant of his role, of his ultimate purpose. Why, I do not know, but thus is it so written in our ancient texts. We asked him to trust us. He didn't. So, yes, he refused."

"How would he have entered the Shadowspace?"

"The same way everyone else does." The Sheikah warrior's crimson eyes glittered. "Through death."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place in Sheik's mind. "He wouldn't let you kill him, then. So he…left."

"He _fled_, yes. And we followed. Hunted him, to be exact." Vor Primum smiled again. "But we'd taught him too well."

"And if he'd entered the Shadowspace?" Sheik persisted. "What then?"

"The knowledge of his purpose would have reached him. That, and other wisdom, too. Things that would change him. You have to be aware of that, Your Highness, when you see him again. Be aware that he might be slightly altered from what you remember."

Sheik started. "See him again?" she asked. "Whatever do you mean?"

Vor Primum sipped again from his mug. "If a spirit stays conscious too long in the Shadowspace it can begin to lose its way. It needs an anchor. An emotional anchor. Something – or someone – strong-willed. Someone important to the Valiarch. We chose one for Link. We chose _you,_ Princess Zelda. You are the Chosen One."

"But," she said, struggling to compose her thoughts. "If that's all you wanted from me, then why go to the trouble to heal me in the form of a Sheikah?"

Vor Primum shrugged. "Call it a conceit."

"My new-found youth?"

"A gift."

"And the bow? With the light arrows?"

"You needed to be prepared," he replied. "To travel here. We anticipated your coming."

"And me? Strong-willed? Really?"

"Haven't you already encountered the Sorrow?"

"Yes, but –"

"And aren't you still alive?"

Sheik fell silent, pondering. The Sheikah warrior's scarlet eyes bore into her. Unnerved, but equally uncowed, Sheik met his gaze.

Vor Primum spoke again. "You are strong enough to be unaffected by the Shadowspace. The Valiarch, on the other hand, needs you."

Thoughts swirled around Sheik's head and she had to focus to clutch at whichever ones she felt were the most important. One stood out. And it made her sit up suddenly, alert.

"If I'm still alive and Link is in the Shadowspace, how am I supposed to help –"

The full import of her thoughts hit her. She whirled around, staring at the empty soup bowl. She turned back, eyes wide. Horror exploded in her mind as the realisation hit her. "You've –"

"Yes."

"But-"

"The poison should take effect any second now."

"No." Sheik stared at him in helpless horror. She began to shake. "No…"

Sadness flooded Vor Primum's eyes. "You won't believe me, but I am sorry. Truly. The Valiarch had to be ignorant before passing into the Shadowspace. The Chosen One, on the other hand, had to know fully what was expected from her. This time, though, we, the Vor Shahal, were not willing to risk another rebellion."

The first cramp hit her with a twisting wrench that felt like hot metal hooks tearing at the lining of her stomach. Sheik doubled over in pain with a groan. She reached out for the little stool, but her shivering hand couldn't find any grip, slipping and sliding out of her control. Her vision started to blur. She tasted blood.

_Ben! Where's Ben? He drank the soup, too!_

She looked around in panic, but her eyes only saw a fractured kaleidoscope of images that made little or no sense to her. Dimly she was aware of the Sheikah warrior rising from his chair and stepping over towards her. She couldn't focus on that now. Her nerves were burning, rivulets of pure acid that ran up and down the length of her entire body. Another groan tore free from her rapidly stiffening jaws.

"It is a sad world, princess," Vor Primum said. "I hope the next one is better for you. No doubt you believed your greatest purpose in life was merely to defeat the Gerudo King of Thieves, Ganondorf. You were wrong. That was merely a test, one of our making, one that was to prepare you and Link for the Sorrow. We were the ones who also engineered it so that you would forget all about that test. At least, until the time the Valiarch entered the Shadowspace himself. Alas, dear princess, this is the fate of heroes – to be the pawns of those who drive destiny."

Bile rose in Sheik's throat. Her eyes had unfocused, every one of her limbs now overtaken by uncontrolled trembling. It hurt her heart to beat. It hurt to breathe. Cold sweat enwrapped her entire body. She toppled onto her side, writhing in pain. Somewhere in the room she heard the soup bowl clatter to the ground.

Vor Primum stood over her. "You may find allies in the Shadowspace," he said quickly. "Old friends that have already passed onto that realm. Be wary, though. You may be parted from your physical body there, but your spirit and soul is still in peril. If anything were to happen to it over there, you would be consumed by the Sorrow and lost forever. Find him. Find the Valiarch and, together, save us all."

The world began to fade. Sheik's breathing slowed. She felt her body begin to numb, felt something airy and ethereal begin to peel painfully away from her flesh. In her ears, she heard the sound of crashing waves coming closer and closer. She couldn't make any sense of it. Regrets flitted through her mind.

_Father…_

Vor Primum had one last thing to say. "I forgot to mention. Valiarch, of course, is a Sheikah word. The Hylian equivalent would be…hmm, what now?"

Sheik slipped in and out of consciousness, from the dim light of the room, to the blackness of the void. Death finally came for the Princess of Destiny and just as it did, she managed to catch the Sheikah warrior's final words.

"Storm Star. That's it," he said. "Hyrule's Hero is the Storm Star."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Princess Zelda walked alone through the land of the dead. The air was still and she could feel no trace of the wind. Her thoughts were her sole companion.

_Princess Zelda. Princess. That's right. Though it's a title that's a tad redundant here of all places._

Earlier, she'd managed to catch her reflection in a shimmering pool of talking water and, though she still had her bow and her Sheikah tunic, the bandages covering her still-youthful face had now gone, and her eyes had been restored to their previous azure lustre.

Princess Zelda had returned.

She'd laughed at that, though she hadn't been sure why. The pool water, in response, had complimented her on her fair beauty. She'd made a point of ignoring it. You had to. There were things in the Shadowspace that could natter on for hours.

She'd taken another peek at the water, and the pool had scolded her. "Look too long, pretty lady," it had said, "And someone will come and steal your reflection."

Zelda had heeded its words and moved on.

Everything was so strange here, and clear blue liquid making small talk was the least of it. Already today a boulder had growled at her for daring to sit on it, a lecherous ferret with a foul tongue had tried to flirt with her, and a pipe-smoking pair of empty boots had tried to engage her in a spot of bartering, offering one of the pair for her bow. She'd refused, though she had to admit that the ferret had been a bit amusing. Reminded her of the many noblemen that had come to court to try to win her hand. Though without the colourful vocabulary, of course.

Now the air was still as she walked a winding path that cut through a dark forest. The trees here held no ordinary leaves. Lining the branches were glowing pink jellyfish that throbbed gently in time to a sweet unseen voice humming a neverending tune. The effect was quite hypnotic and Zelda often found herself swaying along with it, eyes drooping, a sense of cool serenity washing over her. It took a shake of her head to snap out of it. She didn't know why, but she had a feeling that it wasn't a good idea to fall asleep here.

_And why do I need sleep for, anyway? I'm dead!_

A cold shiver ran down her back. It always did whenever she reminded herself of her current state.

Dead.

Not as final as she'd once assumed.

Zelda's gaze swept from side to side. Everything seemed ghostly and ethereal, as though the landscape were a picture with paint and ink still flowing through it. She kept her eyes low. Overhead, instead of the night sky, was a vault of pure blackness, star free and darker than anything she'd ever experienced before. It scared her. She'd looked at it once and had found herself sinking deeper and deeper and deeper…

She didn't have to wonder where the stars had gone. A layer of thick mist clung to her ankles, and within it she saw the stars glitter and whirl within. Sometimes they'd cling to her and sometimes they'd scatter out of her path, like a nest of fireflies disturbed by the slightest motion.

The land wasn't the only thing that was strange. Zelda could hear herself breathing, could feel the coolness of the mist upon her skin, and she _swore_ that she felt the reassuring thud of her heart deep inside. But if she placed a palm to her mouth she didn't feel even a hint of air, and if she touched her chest or put a finger to her wrist she found no sign of a pulse. Sometimes she looked down at herself and she saw herself faded and insubstantial, drained of all colour. She had once looked at her outstretched hand and had seen straight through to the other side, as though she'd become nothing more than wispy vapour. A sudden shiver overcame her at the memory.

And, always, at the back of her mind, she tasted the lingering touch of death itself. It had felt as though her body had suffered a million paper-thin cuts, all of which had been doused with vinegar, salt and acid, and then been dragged through a valley of eternal thorns. The agony of it still reverberated within her.

It blunted the old memories of her life before. Her anger at what the Vor Shahal had done to her and her friends now seemed nothing more than smouldering embers, fading fast. Had that life been real or nothing more than a dream?

She wondered at what Vor Primum had said. Manipulated, that's what he and his tribe had done. Had they been ultimately responsible for Skellow's victory over Link? Had that been why the Gerudo had been able to raise a mercenary army and overcome her castle so easily?

Too many questions. Not enough answer.

There was something else, too. A pressure at the back of her mind, an awareness that enshrouded and encircled everything in the Shadowspace with an icy embrace.

The Sorrow.

Even now, she sensed its malevolent presence just…_there_...out of reach.

Something tugged at the space where Zelda's heart had once been. She stopped short and looked up. This had been the third time this day – if 'day' had any meaning here – that she'd felt this exact same sensation. She stared off into the dark centre of the forest. Something was calling to her heart therein, whispering and insistent. Zelda swallowed, determined to ignore it, whatever it was.

She had a purpose now, a mission, and little choice but to follow it through. She didn't need any distractions. What she _did _need was to find Link. A smile touched her lips at the thought and something tingled within. Was it possible? Could she really see him again?

_Why not? What weight does 'impossible' have in a place like this?_

Moreover, she wanted to find Ben, too. What had happened to the poor little boy? He'd drunk the soup, so he must have shared her fate. Where was he?

Zelda sighed. How could she possibly find two people in the whole of the afterlife anyway?

Something hard touched her foot. Frowning, Zelda looked down to see three marbles rolling against her boot. She crouched and swept them up into her hand. They clicked against each other in the palm of her hand. Holding them up against her eye, her frown deepened.

A flash of red caught her eye. Zelda froze, the marbles forgotten, as her eyes scanned the forest. The jellyfish swayed, casting their eerie pink light, the haunting melody played, but the princess couldn't find anything that she hadn't already noticed before.

She was about to turn away when she saw it again, a splash of scarlet etched against the dark. It was a cloak, she realised. A person!

_There's someone else here in the forest!_

Pocketing the marbles, she broke into a sprint, kicking up a plume of stars as she did so. She could see the figure now, bobbing up and down in a merry jaunt, enwrapped in a hooded red cloak. A woven basket hung from one arm. Dimly, Zelda was aware that the newcomer was heading straight for the centre of the forest – the last place the princess had wanted to go.

The strangeness of the Shadowspace didn't stop as Zelda beat down the winding trail. An octopus wearing a monocle and a top hat slithered into her path, greeted her with a hearty 'Good day!', then disappeared into the mist. By the side of the road, a cow made entirely out of gingerbread offered the princess a cup of tea. Its mouth of pink icing drooped into sadness when Zelda paid it no heed.

The red-caped figure skipped just ahead of her. "Tra-la-la!" it sang. Zelda recognised the voice as female.

"Wait!" the princess called. "Stop!"

The other girl froze. Stars sprayed from under Zelda's feet as she skidded to a stop. She paused to catch her breath – _but why? I don't think I even have lungs anymore! –_ then looked up into the newcomer's face. Zelda started. It was the last one she'd expected to see here.

"Willowreed?"

The Zora mercenary gazed down at the princess with confusion in her eyes. "Grandma?" she said. "Is that you?" She shrank back suddenly, her voice dropping to a breathy whisper. "Or are you the big, bad wolf?"

Zelda blinked her own befuddlement away. "No," she replied. "I'm –"

_What? A friend? A mortal enemy?_

"- someone you know," she finished.

"My," said Willowreed. "What big eyes you have!"

What had Vor Primum said? If a soul stays conscious too long in the Shadowspace it would begin to lose its way? Before the Sorrow had corrupted the place, the Shadowspace was meant to be nothing more than a resting place for the spirit before it moved on to its final home.

What, then, would make Willowreed remember?

Zelda took a breath. "Hyrule. Zora. Castleton. Ruto," she chanted. "Hyrule. Zora. Castleton. Ruto."

"What are you saying? It's hurting!" Willowreed took a step back. "Stop. Those words…they…stop. Just stop." She slapped her hands against her ears. "Stop!"

"Hyrule. Zora. Castleton. Ruto." Zelda had no idea if this was going to work, but she had very few other options left. She raised her voice. "HYRULE. ZORA. CASTLETON. RUTO. HYRULE. ZORA. CASTLETON. RU –urk!"

Willowreed's hand snaked out and curled around Zelda's throat. "Don't say that name," she breathed. The Zora stood tall and regal now, her voice losing the girlish tint it had just held. She cast her basket aside, then blinked as she studied Zelda's bulging face. "You. You're the Princess of Hyrule." Her eyes dropped to Zelda's clothes. "You were the one who stood against me and Jon? You? A prissy princess?"

Willowreed's eyes suddenly widened. She staggered backwards, releasing Zelda as she did so. "Burning!" she moaned. "I remember! Burning! The smell! The pain!" She began scratching at her skin. "_The pain!_"

Zelda leapt forward and clutched the Zora woman by her wrists. "Stop. Look at me. _Look at me._" She gave Willowreed a little shake. "Let the memory pass. Don't dwell on it. _Let it pass._"

Willowreed blinked, her head slumping to one side. Then, as though awakening from a dream, she stirred slowly, inhaling deeply before she raised her head again. She took one look at Zelda then gave her a sharp shove.

The princess winced as she hit the ground, rear first. She grimaced. She could still feel pain, then.

"Where am I?" the Zora demanded, her voice imperious. "What is this place?"

Zelda took in a deep breath. Short and simple would do the trick. "You're dead."

"Dead? Don't be ridiculous." Her hand felt along her chest. She frowned. She moved her hand here and there, searching. Her face fell. "No heartbeat. I'm…dead." She shook her head. "No…no, it can't be." Her liquid eyes flared. "Is this a trick? Some magic of yours?"

"This is the Shadowspace," Zelda explained. "It's what lies between our old life and…and…the life beyond."

"Shadowspace? You mean the Void? That's what we Zora call it." Some semblance of composure returned to her angular face. "I never really thought about it…" She looked down at Zelda. "What do you mean 'the life beyond'? What happens there?"

"I…" Zelda swallowed. What could she say to this vicious mercenary who had so much blood on her hands? Who was she to judge, after all? "I don't know. We'll know when we get there. But here…the Sorrow rules here. And I…I have to stop it."

"The Sorrow," Willowreed said. "You mentioned that before."

"It's not a ghost story, if that's what you're thinking."

"It looks like we're all ghost stories now," Willowreed replied. "You're dead, too. Jon must have got you, right? Skewered you good." Her eyes shone with satisfaction as fondness flooded her voice. "He always was the best of us."

"I need your help," Zelda said, ignoring the Zora's question. "There's someone I need to find. Someone important." _Someone you helped kill. _"I…don't want to do it alone."

A sneer curled Willowreed's lips. "Help you? Why should I?"

Anger burned in Zelda's throat. "What choice do you have? Really – tell me. What are you going to do?" Stars fell from her legs as she hauled herself to her feet. "Just wander around blindly in the land of the dead?"

"Why not?" the Zora replied. "I still haven't decided if I truly believe you anyway." Her voice softened. "Still. It might be worthwhile co-operating for a while. We can start by checking that house right over there."

Zelda blinked. "What? Where?"

Willowreed pointed. "_There."_

Princess Zelda looked. A large cottage stood serenely in the centre of a nearby clearing. Its walls, adorned with a myriad swirling, bright colours, glistened under a pink hue. A homely looking light flickered from within one window. Something pulsed from the house, something that Zelda could feel in the core of her heart.

"It's calling to me," she breathed. "The house. Do you feel it, too?"

Willowreed glanced at her from the corner of one eye, then looked away. "Maybe," she replied. "Follow me. Be on your guard."

As the Zora took the lead, Zelda realised that some of her old self had resurfaced – that old princess that had put wisdom ahead of principles. How else could she explain working side-by-side with the woman who had played a part in Link's death and had killed Malon outright?

Willowreed crouched, frowning, as she reached the cottage. She prodded the base of the building with her finger. It gave slightly under her touch. Willowreed brought the finger to her tongue.

"Cake," she said, eyebrows raised. "This foundation's made of cake. Well, sponge, to be exact."

"Cake?" Zelda pressed all five of her fingertips against a red spiral pattern on the outer wall. When she pulled her hand away, she found her fingers all sticky. She popped one in her mouth. "It's sugary."

Willowreed stood, looking down at her red tunic. "No weapons in this thing." She glanced at Zelda. "Why is it that you get to keep your bow?"

"I don't know," Zelda replied, with a shrug. "I don't make the rules."

A thud came from the cottage door. Crumbs flew from the hinges. Wilowreed swung back towards the house, then started banging the wall with the butt of her palm.

Zelda frowned. "What are you-"

"Get your bow ready!"

Zelda did as she was bid, pulling the lacquered Sheikah bow from her holster just as she heard something splinter with a sharp crack. Willowreed then turned quickly back, hiding the same something behind her back.

The door opened. An old woman hobbled out, bent back and skin wrinkled. Her brown cane glistened as it tapped against the ground. _Toffee, _Zelda guessed. _It's made of toffee._

"Marbles, marbles, marbles," the old crone said. "I've lost me marbles."

"Marbles?" Zelda said. She reached into her pocket with her free hand. "You mean these?"

The woman's narrow eyes sparkled. "Yes! Thank you, missy! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her clawed fingers took the baubles from Zelda's hand then, in a sudden burst of movement, she clutched Zelda's wrist and pulled her into the cottage.

Powdered icing covered the floor, and a clock made from biscuit ticked on a marzipan wall. The door behind swung shut as Willowreed followed the princess in. They both gazed around. Marshmallow bowls sat on hard caramel plates atop a table of dark, sticky liquorice. A huge cauldron bubbled on a spitting fire, and on the wall opposite, an equally large mirror shone with liquid light. The old woman gestured at this with a mottled hand.

"That's how I found the pair of ye," she said. "I called ye through it. Wonderful thing. Pinched it from a saucy dwarf. Oh, he was a card. Make even an old woman blush." She gave the mirror an admiring glance. "Ye can call anyone through it. I felt that the two of ye had some sort of bond. Am I right? Were ye friends in your old lives?"

Willowreed and Zelda exchanged a wry glance.

"No, not quite," the princess replied.

"Ah, well, it helps ye see, being friends," the woman said. She pottered over to the cauldron and gave it a stir. She then patted her stomach. "Helps aid digestion."

Zelda opened her mouth to reply – and found, suddenly, that she couldn't. She tried again. Same result. Her whole body had frozen, solid and heavy as a lump of lead. Helpless panic rose within, her eyes – the only part of her she had any control over – glancing here and there.

The old hag cackled. "I think I'll eat you both for supper," she said. "Yes. Supper. Since you can't die again you'll just have to stay here with me. Forever and ever you'll churn inside me old insides." She threw back her head and laughed.

Zelda strained and strained, but she couldn't even move a finger. Fury blossomed within. _Tricked! Why am always so easily tricked?_

From the corner of her eye Zelda managed to see Willowreed, her limbs trembling, her muscles straining against her red cloak. Her teeth bared, the Zora mercenary seemed to be putting up a better battle. Then, suddenly, she managed to let free with a snarl.

The crone looked up, surprised. "Oh ho!" she said, shuffling over to Willowreed. "Bit of fight in ye, is it? That's not good. Gives indigestion."

Willowreed roared, her arm swinging up. In her hand, she clutched a sharp sliver of the outer wall and drove it straight through the hag's jaw and into the roof of her mouth. There was no blood. The woman did staggered back, a squeal flying from her open jaws. She stumbled, knocking the cauldron into a wild swing. The flames beneath flared, catching the wall and roof above.

Zelda lurched forward, released at last. She heard something sizzle, smelt the stench of burnt sugar and syrup. Up ahead, Willowreed stood over the quivering old woman.

"You don't use magic on the Ruination," the Zora said calmly, tugging the sharp sliver free. "We're trained to break it." Clutching her makeshift weapon, she raised her hand.

"No!" Zelda cried. The words of Vor Primum rolled around her head: if anything happened to her in the Shadowspace then she'd be consumed by the Sorrow. Surely the same would apply to all the denizens here, too?

Willowreed threw her a puzzled glance. "Why?"

"She's…she's helpless."

The Zora's expression soured. "What, would you prefer it if she was fully armed with her teeth in your throat? Would it suit Your Highness to kill her then?"

Zelda couldn't find a response. Flames started to eat their way through the walls. The cauldron's fire must have been intensely hot. The confectionary house began to spit and splinter under the pressure. Willowreed turned away, a disgusted gargle in her throat.

"Leave it, then," she snapped. "Let's go."

The old woman pulled her way towards the door. Willowreed gave her a sharp kick, but decided nonetheless to open it. Zelda began to follow, then paused. She turned back. With the fire roaring all about her, the princess began to wade through the now sludgy floor.

Willowreed stared after her. "What are you doing?"

"Just give me a moment."

She stopped in front of the large mirror. The polished surface had began to blister and bulge. Her fractured reflection stared back at her, framed in the glowing light of the flames. Zelda swallowed. Then, focusing with her whole being, she brought the image of the Hero of Time up in her mind's eye. Somewhere behind her a chocolate beam splattered from the ceiling to the ground.

Forcing all of her emotions and memories of him onto the blurry picture in her mind, she squeezed her eyes tight and _pushed._ Her eyes flew open, and she stared into the mirror. "Find me," she whispered.

Sparks whirled in the air all around her. She felt Willowreed wrap a hand around her wrist, then yank her past the fast dissolving house and out through the door. Just in time, too, to see the old crone scamper into the forest.

When they'd moved sufficiently clear to be the safe from the flames, Zelda fell to her knees, coughing and spluttering. She wiped tears away from her eyes. Still, she was amazed at how much her spirit here resembled her body back in her old life. Was this burning in her lungs and the saltwater streaming down her face real or merely a figment of her imagination?

Zelda looked up. The sky had changed. Clouds floated through a yellow sky, clouds with snarling faces and sharp teeth. She watched a large one swoop in and swallow another smaller one whole. Yet another took small bites from a different cloud, swallowing and chewing, while its victim's face stretched in a rictus of soundless agony.

She glanced over at Willowreed. Shading her eyes with one hand, the Zora woman stared up, up, up at something that had its roots in the ground and stretched away into the sky. Zelda stood and joined Willowreed.

The Zora glanced at her. "What is it?"

Zelda looked up at the thick green trunk and the huge leaves, so large that they could each probably blanket a whole area of Castleton. "It's a beanstalk."

"What do we do?"

Princess Zelda sighed, then tested a thick stem attached to one of the leaves. It was cool under her touch, and swayed but still held firm. The scent of fresh vegetation was strong. Zelda licked her lips. "Climb it," she replied. "We climb it."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

They ascended up the giant beanstalk with slow deliberation, grunting and wheezing, their fingers sliding into the sap-filled grooves that pocked the surface of the impossibly sized stem. _Convenient,_ Zelda thought. _It's almost as though it was meant to be climbed. _That made a queer kind of sense. How else could she explain her sudden decision to scale it? Especially since it would've been a lot easier simply to ignore the giant plant and move on.

Willowreed, to her credit, had simply followed without comment or complaint. Zelda was still unsure of quite how she felt towards the Zora warrior, or what the woman's true intentions were. The princess was wary of her, certainly, but surprised at the fact that she'd pulled Zelda out of the burning cottage like that.

Zelda glanced down. The Zora's slender, silver limbs took to the climb with graceful ease. Willowreed noticed her regard. She scowled. "You're not going to thank me again, are you?" she snapped. "That'll be, what, the fifteenth time now?"

Zelda's lips stretched in a tight smile. "I was taught to have the grace to thank people who have done me a favour."

Willowreed's expression soured. "Oh, sorry. Where are my manners?" She let one hand go and slapped it against her forehead. "Oh, _there_ they are. Back with my charred and blackened _dead_ body."

Zelda looked away. Partly because she'd grown accustomed to the Zora's rough manner, and partly because it made her feel dizzy when Willowreed clung to the stalk with just one hand like that.

"Anyway," the Zora said, surprising the princess by continuing the conversation. "You said we could only die once. That if something happened to us here, we'd be –"

"Consumed by the Sorrow," Zelda finished quietly. "Yes."

"And why the concern, anyway?" Willowreed asked. "If the Sorrow, as you say, is blighting our old world, what does it matter to you here?"

"I have to help them," the princess replied. "And that's not all. Once the Sorrow is dead, all the spirits here will be free, too."

The Zora gave a mumbled response. "Well, isn't that just comforting."

Zelda sighed. She thought the conversation over, but again Willowreed caught her out.

"What do you mean by 'free', anyway?" she said. "Free, how?"

"I don't really know."

"So we won't even go back to our old bodies? Back in the old world?"

"I said I don't know."

It was the truth. Vor Primum hadn't been quite clear on that. He'd mentioned spirits entering the Shadowspace upon death to await their final outcome. He'd said the Sorrow had corrupted that. Zelda wasn't quite sure what _would_ happen to the spirits should the Sorrow fall, but surely it had to be better than their current fate?

She gazed up, blinking. "Look," she said, her voice soft. "I think we've almost reached the top. There's just one last leaf up there."

"Will it be just as bad as the others?"

Now it was Zelda's turn to mumble. "I hope not."

Every time they'd alighted onto one of the huge leaves, they'd found the whole landscape changed. Each leaf seemed herald a gateway into a new realm within the Shadowspace, a world within a world. The first time they'd sat on a lead, they had looked out over an immense battlefield under a bloated, red sun. An army of anthropomorphic wasps had ploughed into a militia of equally humanlike spiders, buzzing and chittering, severed legs and wings churning in a scarlet mist that had fountained up into the air.

That had been terrifying enough. The fact that the insect warriors were the size of ten men didn't help matters much. Naturally, they hadn't lingered there too long.

Another leaf had opened up onto a city the size of an entire continent. Tall, dark towers sprinkled with shimmering lights had spread out in all directions. Strange, steel contraptions flew in and out of the myriad spires, catching the glow of huge moving paintings that depicted all manner of strange things that still made Zelda's head hurt when she'd thought back on them. The steel constructions had then suddenly broken apart in mid-air, whirling and twisting, until they had taken on, impossibly, the form of metal men with swords of crackling light and eyes of dull, blue radiance. The steel warriors had then set upon each other mercilessly, thick black blood – or what seemed like blood - spraying into the air in their wake.

The other gateways hadn't been much better: men with wolf heads feasting on a meal of young, virginal girls with terrified faces; bouncing monkeys with the voices of children, begging, pleading, to be released from their simian prison; a kingdom of proud-faced horses that rode and enslaved human beings clothed in garments made of roses, cracking them with steel-barbed whips; and more, more than what Princess Zelda's mind could bear, more than anyone could be expected to bear, and so she'd let it all dissolve into the well of forgotten memories.

It was all a game to the Sorrow, she decided, a macabre show with real people – real spirits - as its puppets. That, though, implied that the Sorrow- whatever it really was – had intelligence. The realisation had chilled the princess. What a terrible, terrible thing it was.

She didn't want to think on it anymore. Instead, she changed tack.

"Tell me, Willowreed," she said. "Why is it that you have such distaste for Princess Ruto?"

The Zora woman grunted as she pulled herself ever upwards. "It's simple," she replied, her voice flat. "It all started when…" Her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat. "It was to do with the incident of the…" Again, her words drizzled away. Zelda glanced down at her and saw the warrior blink in befuddlement. "I don't think I remember. That is strange, is it not?"

Zelda didn't reply. Unease fell upon her heart like a cloak. Whatever ailed the Zora she, the princess, had been struck with it, too. Already she had begun to feel her old memories start to dissolve, as though her previous life had been just a minor blip, something that had had little or no consequence. Some names, places, a few faces and a sprinkle of old emotions still came to her - her father, Link, Malon and her other friends – but her exact memories had become slippery things, like the eels she'd once caught in Lake Hylia, sliding away from her mind. Sometimes she could snatch them and hold them tight, other times they'd just dart away.

Had she really ruled an entire nation once? And, wait, just now, why had she been so unsure of Willowreed again? Who was the person called Sheik? The Chosen One?

Her thoughts were cut short as they reached the peak of the immense beanstalk. They hauled themselves up onto the final leaf, and rested there, exhausted, for a moment. It bobbed under the pressure, but held firm. Zelda pushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes and looked up ahead. The town before them bore a passing resemblance to Castleton. Certainly, there were echoes of the same architecture: the single- storey houses were small and squat with sloped roofs and thick chimneys, and the roads were winding and cobbled, with only a suggestion of paving. Everything else, though, was completely different.

This town seemed dead, desolate and abandoned. The windows were smashed, and broken lanterns in the shape of stars littered the ground, desperately trying to cling to their fading light. The clouds in the night sky, just like in the forest, had faces, but these all looked sad and forlorn.

Willowreed stepped off of the leaf and into the street. Shattered glass crunched under her boots.

"Oh, this is much better," she said, looking around. "Not a corpse in sight."

"We're all corpses," Zelda muttered in distraction, following the Zora mercenary down. Her eye had been taken by a fluttering scroll pinned to a nearby house. Flattening it with the palm of her hand, she took a look. A picture of a beautiful young girl with oval eyes, a pink gown, and blonde hair stared back, smiling and with one finger pointed straight ahead.

The legend beneath read: REMEMBER! THE PRINCESS LOVES YOU! SMILE!

Underneath the word 'princess' someone had crudely scribbled the word 'bitch.' A sudden gust of wind made the scroll billow from Zelda's grasp. There was some writing beneath, hastily painted onto the wall. It read: WARE THE FAT MAN.

Willowreed folded her arms. "Finally we make it to Happy Land," she sniped.

Zelda was about to reply when the sound of marching boots cut through the silence. "Someone's coming," she said, redundantly.

"Hide," Willowreed replied, pulling the princess into the dark, narrow space between two of the houses. The rhythmic marching grew louder. Bouncing lantern light spilled into the street up ahead. Zelda tensed. Slowly, she pulled her bow free.

A phalanx of soldiers strode regimentally into view, then turned as one and entered the street. Zelda's eyes blinked, widened, then blinked some more. She should have been used to the absurdity of the Shadowspace by now, but yet, even now, she managed to find herself caught by surprise.

The soldiers were all turtles, standing upright like men. There was about a dozen of them, hard shells protecting wan bodies and beak-like faces. They all carried lances and, skewered firmly atop of one, a tiny little man hung there, arms and legs limp. His eyes were shut as he bobbed up and down in time to the marching. Cresting his head was a spotted hat ten times too large. It made him resemble, for all intents and purposes, a large mushroom.

Some of the turtles broke rank to give the man a few prods. They cackled their delight in strange bird-like voices.

Cold anger made Zelda's hand clutch tightly to her bow. Her heart thudded, ready to summon a light arrow to the string. She felt Willowreed gently nudge her.

"What would you do?" the Zora whispered. "You can't save him. He's gone already. Look."

Zelda did. A thin, black mist needled its way out of thin air, then ribboned itself around the little man, covering him whole in a writhing dark shroud. Then, suddenly, it collapsed in on itself, dissolving into a sprinkle of black dots. The soldiers stopped, looking up with confusion etched on their leathery reptile faces.

Zelda's mouth went dry. _Consumed by the Sorrow…_

With a shake of their collective heads, the turtle soldiers marched on, turning a corner and quickly disappearing out of sight. Willowreed waited, then, when she saw all was clear, she stepped out of the shadows.

"What is it we're supposed to do here?" she asked. She looked straight at Zelda. "And who exactly is this person you're searching for?"

"I told you," Zelda replied, voice quiet. She felt reluctant to share anything about Link with the mercenary. "A friend. I'll know him when I see him."

"A friend? Here?"

"Don't question me. I know what I know."

Willowreed held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. "Let's see what we can find here, then, shall we?"

They clung to the buildings and shadows as they stalked their way through the ruined city. Small fires burned here and there. A wolf – or some such equivalent – howled in the distance. Screams punctuated with the sound of explosions haunted the night air.

Zelda's nose twitched at the stench of burning. Something that resembled the shards of a shattered rainbow glittered under her boots. What had happened here? What was this place?

They saw very few people. Sometimes they spied a troop of those soldier turtles, and hid from then until they'd passed. Once they saw a family of mushroom people, the father looking grim, the mother comforting a wailing child in her arms.

Zelda's heart had gone out to them, but Willowreed had pulled her away before she'd had a chance to speak. She'd glared at the Zora then, but the warrior simply dismissed her concerns, looking nonplussed.

Some of the buildings were draped with images painted on canvas. They depicted the young princess they'd seen earlier on the scroll. In those pictures, and standing next to her, was a small, rotund man with a large smile under his equally large moustache. He had two of his fingers up in a strange gesture. The images had been defaced. GO HOME FATMAN, read one. DEATH TO THE PRINCESS, said another.

They reached a fork in the road. Two large, green steel pipes, flecked with rust and stinking of damp, jutted out from the ground. A swirling echo rose from the both of them, as though they were filled with a mass of chattering people.

A sign on the left pipe read: TO THE DOCKS

The sign on the right pipe had been scratched out and now proclaimed: TO THE PITS OF DESPAIR

"I say we take the left pipe," said Willowreed.

"Wise choice," a new voice said. "Though I can get you a safer route."

Willowreed and Zelda spun around. A tall, pale young woman gazed serenely back at them. She wore a teal tunic and had hair the colour of platinum-blonde, with one bang hanging noticeably over her right eye.

"You look lost," she said, "Or, at the very least, you're new here."

Zelda blinked at her. "Who are you?"

"You can call me Rose," she replied, smiling. She placed her hand delicately against her chest and curtseyed.

Willowreed arched an eyebrow. "Not your real name, I'd wager?"

"No, it's not," she replied. A dull explosion erupted somewhere far off to the north. She quickly glanced in that direction, then back at the two of them. "And you are?"

Willowreed was quick to reply. "I'm Ruto and this is Nabooru."

Rose looked from one face to another. "Not your real names, right?"

Zelda matched her wry smile. "Right," she said. The princess winced as a solitary scream split the air far off in the distance. "What is it you want with us?"

"I'm with the Rebellion," Rose explained. "Against the Fatman and the Princess. And against…other things, too."

Suspicion danced in Willowreed's liquid eyes. "You reveal this to every stranger you meet, do you?"

"You're not mere strangers though, are you?" Rose said. "You're from off-world. I could sense it." She paused, then, as though revealing a hammer blow, she said, "I know about the Sorrow."

Willowreed showed not a hint of recognition on her face. Zelda hoped she had done just as well, but she felt her phantom heart race and felt sweat pearl upon her palms. The princess gestured. "Lead the way."

Rose nodded, then turned smartly on her heel. "Quickly now," she barked. "It's curfew time and the Fatman's Troopers are on the prowl. Oh, and by the way, had you taken that Warp Pipe you'd be dead now, a Piranha Plant's supper."

_Dead_, Zelda mused. _A figure of speech, or does she not know her current fate?_

Rose led them down dark alleys, dodging broken drains that sputtered with dirty water, their boots crunching stray debris underfoot. Though her posture was that of a confident and competent young woman, Rose's eyes betrayed her caution and concern. Soon, they came to a halt in front of a small door set into the crumbling wall of a derelict building. Rose procured a key from her tunic, then slid it in with a clunk. The lock snapped open.

As they entered, a dark brown creature shaped like a tear-drop floated into view. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back, Rosa-"

"Hush, Polari," Rose said. "We have guests."

Polari took one look at the new pair, then floated away into the gloom. Rose led them through a dark corridor. They passed a man there, tall and thin, who stared at them with suspicious eyes. Perched upon his head was a flat green cap, and his face sported the same sort of moustache that Zelda had seen in the picture of the Fatman.

"What's this?" he said. His voice had a strange accent to it. "What're you up to?"

"Leave it," Rose said, her tone firm. "I know what I'm doing. I'm in charge here, remember?"

The man's face soured, but still he moved aside to give them space. His eyes bore into Zelda and Willowreed as they walked past.

Rose beckoned them into a small, bare room, sparsely furnished. A single star-shaped lamp shone in one corner. Straw lay on the hard ground. "Sit," she said, gesturing at the floor. "You'll have to excuse my lack of hospitality. I have very little to offer."

Willowreed, clearly tiring of the pleasantries, spoke as soon as she was seated. "Why was it better to go to the Docks?" she asked. "Other than the obvious reason."

Rose's eyes glittered under the lamp light. "The princess and the Fatman will be there," she explained. "Presiding over another one their barbaric 'contests.' I thought you might like to see what it is the Rebellion are fighting against."

Zelda wanted to ask about this 'princess' and her consort, but she needed other answers first. "You mentioned the Sorrow," she said. "What do you know of it?"

Rose smiled. "My, you're full of questions, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Zelda said, slightly abashed. She considered the young woman's words. "Is it because you don't trust us?"

"The opposite," Rose said with a smile. "I do trust you. I can see the trace of other worlds on you. Don't ask how, it's a knack of mine." Her smile widened. Zelda felt herself warming to the woman. "If you've been to other worlds, then you must know all about the Shadowspace…?"

"Not entirely," Zelda replied. "I mean, we know what it _is. _I just don't understand why it's all so strange."

A glaze fell over Rose's eyes and her voice dropped to a hush. "Stars," she said. "There are so many stars out there. And a whole universe full of many, many worlds. So many people. So many stories. Some of those worlds exist only in the imagination." She paused for a breath. "In the Shadowspace – the Void, the Middle Realm, Limbo, whatever its name – a _semblance_ of all those worlds are made manifest here, twisted and corrupt, just for the sick amusement of the Sorrow."

Zelda leaned forward. "And this world here?" she asked. "What is it?"

A sad shadow fell over Rose's eyes. "Better you don't know. It had a name once. It's meaningless now."

Zelda hated press this self-possessed young woman with more questions, but she had little choice. "You said your Rebellion fights other things, too. Is the Sorrow one of those?"

Rose turned her full regard towards the princess. "Yes. Of a sort. We're spread out through all the worlds." She blinked. A muffled explosion topped with a scream sounded from the outside. The little building shook, flecks of plaster falling from the ceiling. "Waiting."

Willowreed raised an eyebrow. "For…?"

"A champion," Rose replied, her eyes flicking over to the Zora. "One that would be worthy enough to end the Sorrow's tyranny. We'll wait the whole of eternity if we have to. But, till then, we have our own, more local, problems to deal with." She cleared her throat. "Now. We have a Warp Pipe here that will take you direct to the Docks. I don't know what your purpose is here in our world, but I hope you find it there." A wry smile touched her lips again. "Try not to draw attention to yourselves, will you?"

Zelda felt a sudden tug of sadness overcome her. "You're not coming with us?"

Rose smiled. "Not tonight," she replied. "Our time will come." A sigh fled her lips. "So. 'Ruto' and 'Nabooru.' I bid thee both fare well. I was very happy to meet you."

…

_Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding._

One of the turtle soldiers stood on the very edge of the waterfront, tugging on a bell that hung between twin wooden beams. "Ship ahoy!" he called.

A crowd had formed on the slippery docks, consisting mostly of mushroom people under the watchful eyes of a horde of turtle soldiers who prodded and probed anyone who stepped out of line. Zelda watched as the salty sea breeze threw flecks of icy water into her face. The crowd, she mused, looked utterly petrified.

"Ship ahoy!" the bellman called again. Zelda looked out at the churning blackness of the sea, its crashing waves and softer ripples only barely visible due to a fat full moon and a sprinkle of twinkling stars. Zelda looked up at those, thinking back on what Rose had said. _Many, many worlds…_

She suddenly felt quite alone and small.

A schooner floated into view ahead, its hull creaking, its sails at half-mast. It made a lazy turn, seawater frothing beneath, and made its ponderous way into the harbour.

The turtle soldiers rounded on the crowd. "Cheer!" they demanded, their lances at the ready.

The people roared, waving and hooting as the ship passed by. Zelda had to credit them for their enthusiasm. She suspected that the slightest hint of insincerity would end quite nastily. Glancing askew, Zelda saw that Willowreed had her lips pursed, distinctly unimpressed. No one had given either of them a second look, and the princess had found this odd. Were they familiar, these strange people, with the Hylian and Zora race, then? Or were the people, even the soldiers, too self-absorbed with their own worries and cares to check?

A fanfare of trumpets made the entire crowd, Zelda and Willowreed included, turn around. Creaking and squeaking followed, the ground shaking gently underneath. Zelda frowned, peering ahead.

Dragged along by straining mushroom men, a huge pedestal set on wheels slowly rumbled into view. It swayed from side to side, its wooden beams rattling. Standing atop the gargantuan structure were two figures – one tall and willowy, the other short and squat.

Zelda gazed up at them. _The Princess and the Fatman._

One of the ropes suddenly snapped. The mushroom man holding it cried out in terror, then tumbled to the ground. He looked up, face twisted in fear, and tried to scramble to safety - but it was too late. The trundling pedestal rolled over him without stopping, cutting off his agonised protests with a gurgling cry. Zelda, eyes wet with tears, watched as a wispy black mist wound its way around the man's remains. The Sorrow had taken another victim.

The pedestal came to a grinding halt. It was then that Zelda noticed a chained figure at its base, another mushroom man, this one dressed in a blue waistcoat and a spotted red hat.

Atop the platform, the princess stood and waved. "Hello, everyone!" she said, giggling. "I hope you're all having a grand time!"

"Cheer!"

The crowd did.

The Fatman also stood. "It's a-_me_, M-"

"Cheer!"

The roar of the throng drowned out the Fatman's words. As the noise died down, the princess spoke again, looking down at the prisoner with her large, sapphire eyes. "My dearest and oldest companion! My ever faithful attendant!" she said, her voice cascading down. "Today – for our amusement – you get to fight for your life!" She giggled again.

"Cheer!"

The mushroom man's face was etched with terror. "Please, Your Highness," he whimpered. "Not this. Please, not this."

Zelda's hand had already reached her bow when Willowreed grabbed her wrist in a tight grip. "Don't be a fool," the Zora hissed. "Look around you. We wouldn't stand a chance."

Reluctantly, Zelda let her hand drop. Bitterness welled up inside of her. What good was she? Really?

The princess high above spread out her arms. "First – today's prize!"

"Cheer!"

A wooden door slid open on the side of the pedestal. Two of the turtle soldiers strode in, then, with obvious effort, pulled out a marble slab, atop of which stood –

Zelda's heart skipped a beat. "The Master Sword!"

_How could that be?_ Her mind raced. _That must mean – oh, no. The Sorrow must have taken the Temple of Time. Or the whole of Castleton._

She shivered.

_Father…_

The princess above raised her hands. The sea breeze made her pink gown billow. "And, now," she said, adding yet another giggle. "Our champion!"

"Cheer!"

As the crowd did as they were bid, another panel opened on the pedestal's flank. A man stepped out, grinning and waving as he basked in the adulation, sword clutched in his hand, cloak fluttering in the wind.

Zelda's eyes widened. This was quite the day for shocks.

Willowreed noticed her reaction. "What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"Here!" one of the turtle soldiers said, waving his lance in a menacing fashion. "No chatting! Or I'll put a stop to it, I will!"

The Zora looked from the turtle's face to the tip of his lance, and then back again. She smiled a wicked smile. "I'd love to see you try."

Swallowing, the soldier backed off. Willowreed turned back to Zelda. "Well?"

"That man," she replied, still staring. "He's Hylian."

Willowreed stretched up on the tips of her toes and peered. "So he is. Do you know him?"

"Yes," said Zelda, her voice glum. "His name is Count Xain."

"Not good news, then?"

"No," Zelda replied. "Not at all."

Xain waved one last time at the crowd, then turned to face the Fatman and the Princess, bowing theatrically. As he straightened his back, his eyes fell upon the Master Sword. An ugly hunger sparkled on his face. Licking his lips, he tentatively reached out for the pommel, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. He closed his eyes, savouring the moment. And pulled.

Nothing happened.

He pulled again.

Someone in the crowd coughed. A turtle soldier threw them a sharp glance, silencing them instantly.

Grim satisfaction made a hard smile rise to Zelda's lips. "You fool," she whispered. "No ordinary man can lift the Master Sword."

Xain cleared his throat noisily. "No doubt I'll be able to take it easily as soon as I'm done for the night."

The Fatman nodded, shaking his fist. "Thassa right!"

Xain turned his attention to the imprisoned mushroom man. He slid the flat of his blade under the terrified prisoner's chin, then lifted the man's head up. Tears had cut silver streaks down the mushroom man's quivering face.

"I, Count Xain, Champion of our Beloved and Most Righteous of Rulers challenge _you_, worm, to a duel." He grinned. "To the death."

"Cheer!"

The assembled horde roared their approval. Above, the grinning princess clapped daintily while the Fatman pulled her close, and pecked her on the cheek, waving all the while.

Zelda felt sick. She wanted to turn away, but found that she couldn't. Her eyes remained fixed on the broken expression on the prisoner's face. Hands curled into fists, she cursed inwardly. She had to be something that she could do! _Something!_

The crowd jostled her here and there, growing more raucous in their excitement. Some of them had bloodlust in their eyes. Now she began to doubt whether their earlier fervour had been a pretence or not. Despite the night air and the breeze blowing in from the sea, Princess Zelda felt suddenly hot. Tears blurred her eyes. She was just so sick of it. Sick of it all.

_Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding._

Zelda's head snapped up.

The crowd fell silent. Slowly, as one, they turned around. The bell, the one that heralded the coming of a ship, had just burst into life.

All by itself.

Unease spread over the throng. Hushed whispers began to float into the air.

Zelda frowned. She glanced up at Willowreed, who shrugged in response. Atop the pedestal, the two rulers looked out to sea, eyes squinting.

There was nothing there.

Zelda squinted, too. All she saw was the swirl of the empty sea under a moonlit glaze.

_Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding._

The turtle soldier who had earlier manned the bell looked up at it in befuddlement, scratching his head. "Um," he said. "Ship ahoy…?"

The horizon suddenly rippled and tore. A huge swirling black hole, flecked with blue light, opened up over the sea. The wind howled. Zelda had to clutch onto Willowreed to keep from toppling over.

An immense ship, sails billowing, shot out from the opening in a graceful arc. It hung suspended in the air for a heartbeat, then crashed into the water, spraying a plume of green froth up high and away. Its bow then flew back up, colliding into the bell with a clang and then grinding to a halt as it finally ran aground. The mushroom people, screaming, scattered in panic.

Zelda stared up in awe. Seawater sprayed into her face, but she was beyond noticing. Nothing happened for a moment, then she saw a cannon slowly rattle out from within the ship's prow. More panicked screaming followed. Zelda held her ground, transfixed, the wind rippling her hair.

A flash of molten light followed, and the cannon jerked, firing. The projectile, a black blur against the night sky, whistled high up into the air, then, suddenly, unfurled itself into a new, and more familiar, shape. It plummeted to the ground, then landed with impossible grace into a crouch. The man, for that's what he was, stood. His white shirt billowed under his dark waistcoat and even darker frock coat; the type, Zelda realised, that pirates were prone to wearing.

He turned quickly, and swiftly swept the Master Sword up and out of its pedestal. The crowd, the soldiers, Count Xain, and the two monarchs above stood agog.

"This would be mine, I believe," the man said in a soft voice. He turned, and Zelda caught a sight of his face. Time froze. Her heart surged, nearly bursting with giddy happiness. She grinned the most sincere grin she'd ever done in her entire life.

Link looked at Count Xain. "A duel, you say? I'm game." He smiled. "When do we begin?"


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Hey-a!" the Fatman bellowed, pointing. "Get him!"

Link's elegant black frock-coat fluttered. He looked up. Only the briefest flicker of consternation passed over his face. "Unfortunate," he said.

He looked younger, Zelda realised. Not quite as young as the Vor Shahal had made her, but young nonetheless. And yet, at the same time, his bearing and demeanour hinted at something deeper. Almost sage-like.

Time didn't wait for her to ponder, though. The turtle soldiers – the Fatman's Troopers, as Rose had described them – pounced. Yelling a guttural war-cry in chorus, they flew in at Link; for some, it was quite literal, they actually sprouted feathery wings from their shells and dove straight in. Count Xain, seeing his chance, flung himself out of the way.

_Typical_, Zelda thought with sour distaste.

The knot of mushroom people all around her panicked, rushing in all directions, some in fear, some just glad to be freed from being a captive audience. Clearly, for some of them, they'd been dragged from the curfew against their will.

Zelda, bow drawn, pushed against them, desperate to get to Link's side. He wasn't going to stand alone this time. He _wasn't._

"Let me through!" she cried, her voice drowned out by the yells and shrieks ringing in her ears. "Let me pass!"

Despite being twice their size, the mushroom people still managed to push and prod, catching her with glancing bows to her legs and knees. Frustration gurgled in her throat.

A stray memory flew into Zelda head. She caught it, ravenous for the knowledge it held, and quickly unlocked it. Old wisdom spilled into her mind. She stopped short. She didn't have to run at all. Composing herself quickly, she crouched for a split-second, still jostled by the throng, and primed the muscles in her legs. She then leapt, somersaulting over the horde of mushroom people and landing safely behind the Hero of Time.

Zelda clutched her bow, grateful that the Troopers hadn't taken it from her when she'd initially joined the crowd. Her carrying no quiver had probably convinced them that she was a harmless prankster with delusions of being a warrior.

_Speaking of warriors…_

Zelda cast a quick glance over the crowd, eyes searching.

_Where is that woman? Where? Where? Whe-_

There! Her eyes funnelled in on Willowreed. Zelda saw the Zora casually grab a lone Trooper's lance with both hands, smile, then kick the shocked turtle's grip off of the weapon. As Willowreed made her way over to Zelda, the Hylian princess turned back to Link.

The Master Sword danced against the night sky. It cut and slashed, spilling twinkling light in its wake, an extension, it seemed, of the Hero's own heart. An inch-perfect downward slash flowed into a graceful upward arc, each strike sending Troopers flying far, far away into the air. Zelda watched their ascent, saw each turtle retreat into their shells as they spun off into the gloom.

A nudge of doubt touched Zelda's phantom heart as she aimed her bow. Would the Sorrow take these as its victims, too?

She had no time to wonder. A trio of light arrows flew from her string, cracking shells and burning leathery skin. She saw Link neatly swivel, taking out two more Troopers as he did so, to help give her a wider aim. Grateful, she shot again, taking care to eliminate any one of their attackers that posed a clear threat to the Hero.

"Help!"

Turning her head sharply, Zelda saw the misery-stricken face of the chained mushroom man, cringing any time the dive-bombing Troopers got too close.

"Hold on!" she called, then cursed inwardly for her stupidity.

_It's not as though he can do aught else, is there, girl?_

Zelda swivelled, aimed, then let loose a quad of arrows. They struck home, hitting all four of the man's chains. The linked metal glowed molten, sizzled, and then snapped. The mushroom man dropped to the ground. He looked straight up at Zelda, eyes filling with gratitude.

She didn't even have the time to smile at him. A sudden shriek made her glance up. One of the winged turtles bore down on her, eyes aflame with rage, clawed beak open wide, an image plucked straight from the pits of nightmare itself. She jerked her bow arm up –

And saw, just in time, a sharp lance pierce the creature straight through the stomach. Zelda, her breathing shallow, glanced up at Willowreed and nodded her thanks.

The Fatman's Troopers were in disarray. There hadn't been that many of them in the first place, and now Zelda, Link and Willowreed were diminishing their numbers even further. Zelda noted, with satisfaction, that the Docks had now been cleared of all the mushroom people. Even the ones that had dragged the towering wooden pedestal in seemed to have disappeared.

She glanced up. The other princess and her consort, the Fatman himself, seemed apoplectic with rage, both of them hopping up and down barking others, though the young woman still managed to make her outbursts look somehow dainty and dignified.

_Perhaps she can give me some lessons, _Zelda thought idly.

As the attacks abated, Link whirled around, black pirate coat billowing. His eyes met Zelda's, held it, lingering, then moved on to Willowreed. A slight frown creased his brow, as though he was trying to pluck a stray memory from his mind. He gave his head a tiny shake.

"Back to my ship," he said calmly. "I can't be harmed if I stay in its vicinity. Me, and anyone else I choose."

That made an impossible kind of sense. How else could he have 'survived' being shot from a cannon? Zelda glanced at the huge galleon, its dripping bow still perched up onto the Docks. Moonlight glistened off its silver nameplate. Surprise pulled at Zelda's eyebrows. _The Soul of Courage_, it read.

_Was that what my vision had really meant?_

She then frowned again: _What vision?_

Link turned back and pointed the tip of the Master Sword straight at the Fatman. The rotund consort of the other princess froze, she herself clinging to his arm. The Fatman's remaining Troopers backed off. A hush fell over the Docks. Light slivered down the Master's Sword's keen edge.

"You," said Link, his quiet voice carrying well. "You, sir, can consider yourself marked."

He turned away with a swish of his coat, then strode on to the Docks. Without even a backward glance, he gestured for Zelda and Willowreed to follow. "Go," he said. "I'll cover."

Link swung around with casual ease as the two women dashed past him. Zelda looked over her shoulder to watch. A final phalanx of flying Troopers swooped down upon the Hero of Time. He stood, legs apart in a practised stance, waiting, blade at the ready. The Master Sword began to glow, a single star of piercing light forming at its very tip.

The turtles cawed a victory cry and, as one single formation, dove in. Brighter and brighter the Master Sword shone until, at the very last moment, Link spun with a cry – once, twice – an arc of fiery light following the blade's speeding path.

Link, face grim, turned away, framed in a fluttering downpour of smoking turtle bodies. The Fatman voiced his rage in the distance.

Zelda turned quickly back to the _Soul of Courage. _If the Sorrow was going to take those things, no matter how misguided they were, she didn't want to see it. Willowreed had already stopped at the water's edge, and Zelda hurried to join her.

A rope ladder now swung against the galleon's bow. She frowned – who else manned this ship? Friends of the Hero? New friends? A juvenile stab of jealousy prodded her deep inside.

Willowreed had already begun her climb. Zelda holstered her bow and, putting all such questions out of her mind, quickly followed suit. A swift tug below a few moments later told her that Link was on his way, too. The ladder gently swayed as he climbed. Her back prickled. She felt vulnerable here, exposed. What if another attack came? Zelda picked up her pace.

Finally, she swung her legs over the railing up down and set herself back down upon the deck. Her eyes swept the entire vessel. Lanterns provided flickering light, either strapped to the railings or hanging from the rigging.

Aside from Willowreed and herself, Zelda realised, there seemed to be no-one else on board.

The Zora was also looking around, absently rubbing one of her wrists. "You think he wants us to man the decks?"

Zelda regarded Willowreed with a level gaze. "Do you know he is?" she asked. "What you did to him?"

Liquid eyes gazed coolly back. "Does it matter now?"

Before the princess could reply, the subject in question joined them. Zelda turned to him.

"What is this?" she said. "This ship?"

Link threw her the briefest of glances before taking his place at the galleon's foredeck. "A parting gift, I think," he said, his hands resting against the railing. "From the Vor Shahal." The flickering lights of the Docks glittered in his eyes. "It allows me passage between all the worlds of the Shadowspace. It protects me, too, if I stay close. And responds to my thoughts. Watch." He raised a hand, then clicked his fingers.

The ship jerked. Willowreed and Zelda fell awkwardly to the deck. Link, on the other hand, managed to keep his footing without even a hint of disturbance. Slowly – impossibly – the _Soul of Courage_ began to make sternway, pulling itself backwards off of the Docks. The underside of the hull growled and shrieked as it moved, so much so that Zelda felt sure it would split apart beneath their feet there and then. Embarrassingly, she clung to Willowreed as the Zora hauled her upright.

The ship then dipped forward with alarming speed, creaking, and Zelda felt her phantom stomach rise to her throat. Then, with a frothy splash, the bow plunged back into the sea. Cold seawater splashed over the deck, coating the wooden planks with a slippery glaze. Again, Zelda and Willowreed tumbled wildly to the floor and, again, Link stood like a rock, unmoved.

Zelda was soaked, gritty water matting her tunic. She looked up. The sails far above snapped taut. Her gaze fell to the deck. She saw the ship's spoked wheel begin to whirl all by itself, spinning with rapid clicking motions, and slowly the _Soul of Courage _began to spiral around and away from the Docks.

Urgent shouts buzzed through the air like angry hornets. More Troopers had amassed on the Docks now, but it was far too late. Zelda briefly wondered if their new enemies would try to chase the _Soul_ with a vessel of their own.

Link gazed out over at the Fatman and the Princess. The former was still hopping and down, pulling his own hair and flinging curse after colourful curse, while the latter looked mournfully out at sea, as though deep in thought.

"I'm not done here yet," Link said, his voice contemplative. Wispy steam rose from his lips in the cold night air. "The time's coming, though. Coming soon."

Zelda pulled herself up, then brushed down her Sheikah clothes. She moved to stand just behind the Hero. Her skin prickled in anticipation, her mouth suddenly drying. There he was, standing in front of him. It was like a dream.

Her phantom heart thudded.

Link turned to greet her.

Their eyes met.

The significance of the moment hit Princess Zelda just then. The last time they'd stood like this, the last _true _time when she'd had full access to her memories, was when she'd sent him back in time after their climactic victory over Ganon.

She felt a little awed, a little overwhelmed.

The ship began to bob as it caught on a current, and the wind began to play havoc with their hair. They stood facing each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. Zelda tried, starting forward, as though she would hug him, then halted suddenly as she saw Link begin to do the same. He froze, too, bewildered, then withdrew, noisily clearing his throat.

An uneasy moment hung between them.

"Princess," the Hero of Time said at last, his voice formal.

"Link."

"I'm very happy to see you, Your Highness."

Whether it was his sense of propriety or his natural awkwardness, Zelda didn't know, but his hesitancy was so familiar to her old memories –ones that, she was surprised to see, hadn't begun to fade yet – that she smiled inwardly.

"I'm…" - Zelda was at a loss for words – "…dead."

She instantly felt foolish.

Link, on the other hand, looked quite distressed. "I couldn't save you," he said. The ship was picking up speed now. Waves swished against the hull. "I tried. I failed."

Zelda shook her head. "It happened to me later, Link."

She looked away, not really wanting to explain further than that. The Hero, for a wonder considering his social reflexes, seemed to understand the hint.

"I heard you calling me," he said instead, voice soft. "Felt it, really. Here. Where I once had a heart." He held her gaze. "I'm late, though. Sorry. I honed in on you. Lost my bearings for a bit. Unfortunate."

Zelda smiled, catching his gaze again. "It's…perfectly alright, Link. You're here now." She heard her voice catch. "I never thought you would be. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

He smiled back, a little hesitantly. There was a feverish sparkle in his eyes. "I saw something. When I arrived here in the Shadowspace. A vision. The whole universe. Every single world. Past, present, future. I saw it all, and saw how it all fits together so neatly, so perfectly, in terrible, majestic beauty.

"It's just that we don't see it. All of us. Cocooned in our own little dramas. We can't see the horizon, the grander picture. And I looked at myself, and all those problems I thought that I had, all the times wondering at what others were doing and thinking, and I saw all those problems as small and petty and trivial and – Ah!" He blinked, and seemed to note the look on her face. "I'm not making much sense, am I?" He ran a hand through the tangle of his hair. "This is why I usually let someone else do the speaking. Navi was good at that. I miss her."

Zelda marvelled at the man before her. At times, especially in the brief battle she'd just witnessed, he was so eerily composed, so…magnetic…and at other times, awkward as a young boy. It did, she admitted to herself in secret, make him just a tad more endearing. He wasn't that far above mere mortals, after all.

And yet, there was something more now. Vor Primum had warned her Link might appear different and, apart from the obvious cosmetic changes, it did seem to her that both these aspects of his personality had somehow become supremely amplified.

"I don't know if I do follow, Link." Zelda blinked as flecks of seawater spiralled into her path. She ran his words back through her head. "Past, present and future?" she said, her phantom heart racing as the possibilities, no matter how improbable, opened up to her. "So you know what's going to happen, then? In the future?"

Link's face brightened. "Yes. Exactly! Of course. Well. Um," his face fell, his voice becoming sheepish. "No. Not really." He cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his shirt. "No."

Zelda's lips twitched, trying to hold back an amused smile. "Then?"

"It's more a feeling," he replied. "That everything will be…just fine. In the long run. For eternity. Eventually." He inhaled deeply. "Once we deal with the Sorrow, that is."

Zelda nodded. _That _she understood. "Once we deal with the Sorrow."

He searched his face, saw how sometimes it shifted quickly from serene dignity to nervous flightiness, and realised now why the Vor Shahal had chosen her to be his anchor. _Chosen One. _ She'd almost forgotten all about it. Now she felt a hint of pride at her new role. She wouldn't, though, let herself become some passive passenger, oh no. She just didn't have it in her.

"So," she continued. "Do you know…what you are? What you have to do?"

The cool sense of dignity enveloped him once again and he stood, head high. "I know that I am the Storm Star, hand-picked by the Vor Shahal to battle an ancient threat from the very dawn of time itself," he said, his black frock-coat rippling in the breeze. "And that I alone will face the Sorrow." Then that awkward sheepishness returned. "I, uh, just don't have the faintest clue what that means."

Zelda reached up a hand, as though she meant to touch him, but seeing his eyes widen, she let it drop. "Don't worry," she replied in a gentle voice. "We'll help you find out. _I'll _help."

They had no words after that, though both felt inwardly that they certainly had plenty to say. They just stood, eyes locked and searching, lost to everyone and everything. The sea swirled all around, the waves gently whispering. Burning lights from the land left behind began to recede in the distance.

Willowreed coughed politely behind them. "So are we ready to start formulating some sort of strategy now, or are you two just going to stand there admiring the 'view?'"

"Stand here admiring the view." Link didn't break his gaze.

Princess Zelda couldn't help but smile.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

In the hours that followed, as the _Soul of Courage_ circled around the nameless land they'd just left, Zelda often found Link in long moments of contemplative silence. Sometimes he stood there, back straight, his eyes gazing out at the horizon, his frock-coat catching the wind and fluttering. It was quite the dramatic pose. Zelda wondered briefly if it was deliberate.

Other times he'd sit on the deck, leaning against the railing, stroking his chin with head tilted back and eyes closed. This was how she saw him now as she stretched awake from a little nap. She yawned, letting the shipboard sounds – a creak of wood, a light splash against the hull – wash over her.

She scoured the dregs of memory that now littered her mind. After Ganon's defeat, Zelda had sent Link back in time and the whole of reality had changed as a result. They'd met again, as children this time, and though her memories had already started to dissolve at the point, she did recall the brief moments they'd spent together as they'd both grown up in that new world.

Link was often quiet then, but it was more due, so she had believed, to his sheer lack of social abilities than anything else. She'd grown up with other children like that, too. She knew the characteristics those children shared, exposed, as they were, to a never-ending barrage of cutting remarks and constant criticisms from people all around them.

Take Periya, for example, a friend of hers of noble stock she'd once known. To offset her parents very vocal disappointment that they'd never had a son who would grow up to be a daring and defending knight for them, Periya had trained first at a local blacksmiths to forge her own blade, and then with the dashing young swordmaster at the castle's court, eager to put on an exhibition for her folks showcasing her new skills. She'd even taken a nursemaid along as a chaperone, conscious as she was of social mores. It had taken her months.

Zelda recalled being visited by Periya on the eve of her surprise, the young girl red-cheeked and sparkling with bottled excitement. The hope that shone in her eyes, the eagerness to please, had been painful to watch and Zelda had felt nervous for her then. She'd been right. Periya came back to her the next night, broken in spirit and racked with tears. Her parents had been disgusted at her forwardness, had found fault in both blade and skill, and, finally, had bluntly labelled her a slut for, as they'd put it, blatantly flirting with the swordmaster and the old smithy. Reactions like that were neither rare nor out-of-character for Periya's parents.

Zelda could never understand people like that, but she knew they existed. _Who needs the Sorrow_, she thought, _when the world has such people in it, anyway?_ The personality of the child contributed, too. Zelda had had other friends like Periya, in similar circumstances, both male and female, but they'd been able to overcome such obstacles in their early life to grow up to be free of any lingering damage. Periya, a thoughtful and sensitive soul, had not. She had many friends and, eventually, a devoted husband and a gaggle of children. She never stopped feeling unloved, though.

Link had no living parents, but Zelda wondered if he'd had to endure a similar barrage of abuse, a similar cloud of negativity, from people close to him when he'd been young. She'd never asked. She'd never really thought about it until now.

_Or,_ Zelda mused ruefully, _I'm just overthinking things. Maybe this is just the way Link is, no reasons necessary, and it's me that's wrong for seeing it as unusual._

This quietude that Zelda now observed in him was very different, though. It was content and confident, as though he knew that there was nothing that needed to be said, so why waste the breath? It also seemed to draw on his certitude – a certitude that she definitely didn't share – that everything was going to turn out well.

Sometimes he would break out of his reverie to speak a few words, then would turn back to scanning the horizon. "We're all stories, really," he said once. "We just don't know it." Another time, he'd caught her with an intense gaze and had said, with a smile, "I'm glad you're here, Princess." Her heart had warmed with fluttery and girlish delight. She chided herself inwardly for it.

Now Zelda watched him as he sprang to his feet and stood against the ship's railing, the dark coastline of the nameless land running parallel to their left. The Master Sword sat in a scabbard strapped to his back. Willowreed, still in the red cloak and tunic Zelda had found her in, prowled the deck behind her. It was at the Zora's urging, earlier that night, that had prompted Zelda to speak now.

"Link?" she said.

A slight movement of his head told her that he'd heard him. She went on: "I was just wanting to ask. About our destination. About our plans."

He turned to face her. "There's a castle here. Close by. The Fatman's home. Well, not _his_. His princess had it first. Seat of her throne, to be exact. That's where they'll be headed, I'm certain. I plan to cut off the head of all that's rotten in this place." An odd expression creased his features. "I wasn't going to. Not initially. But now you're here, Princess, I feel, I don't know, like my mind has cleared."

_Chosen_. The word suddenly echoed around Zelda's head. It was flattering to think her mere presence had such an effect on him, but wasn't going to let herself indulge those thoughts. It would've been a bit narcissistic if she had.

Link went on: "They were heroes once, the Fatman and the girl. Maybe in their world, before they'd died, I don't really know. It had all started so well for them." He shook his head. "But they have to be stopped now."

Zelda found herself surprised again. Her last memories of Link – just before _all_ memories regarding him had been taken from her – were of a Hero almost broken inside, lamenting the death of what he'd called the 'Old Ways.' Zelda remembered he was quite absolute in his thinking – he'd never expressed sympathy like this before.

Willowreed, her interest clearly piqued, came to stand beside Zelda. "If killing them is what you want, then just send me in. There's no point all three of us going. I'll make it quick. And painful."

Zelda glanced at her askew. "Surely you mean pain_less?_"

Liquid black eyes blinked back in perfect innocence. "No."

Link turned to regard the Zora. "I just want them removed."

Willowreed shrugged. "Oh. Shame."

Zelda held her breath, like she always did when Link and the mercenary interacted. Had the memory of what she'd done to him slipped from his mind? Or was he simply not showing it?

Link gestured towards the land. "I've been here before. Seen what it's like. Not pleasant. Beautiful in its own way, though. Or it should've been." He allowed a slight smile to touch his lips. He paused, then: "I don't want the Sorrow to take the Fatman and his Princess, not now, not ever – but I don't want them in charge, either. Once we've done that, we'll be away."

Willowreed was flicking at her nails nonchalantly. "There's no guarantee that whoever replaces them will be any better. You know that, right?"

"I do," Link replied. "There's a Rebellion here. Good people. I've met them. They'll do the job."

"The Rebellion? We've met them, too!" said Zelda, surprised. "Rose?"

Link smiled. "Yes. Rose. A good woman."

Again Zelda felt that infantile nudge of jealousy. She steadfastly ignored it. What did such feelings matter here, anyway? They were both dead – there was no future for them.

Link continued: "She's not alone, though. The Fatman's brother is in league with her."

"His brother?" Zelda recalled the man they'd passed in Rose's safehouse. "I think we may have met him, too. What's his name?"

"I don't know," Link replied. "He never offered it. I never asked."

Zelda pursed her lips. "The Rebellion."

"That reminds me," said Link. "I can call them." He began patting his coat, frowning. "Now. Um. Where is it?" He started pulling things out from the pockets: a curved dagger, its hilt encrusted with jewels ("No"), a glittering metal star with wicked-looking points ("No"), a thin steel wire dressed with hooked barbs ("Toothpick"), and finally a whistle made, it appeared, from chalk-white marble. "Ah! That's it!"

He blew on it.

No sound followed.

Willowreed and Zelda stared.

Link grinned back at them. "She'll find us now."

The Zora arched an eyebrow. "I shouldn't ask, should I?"

"No."

"So," Willowreed said instead, interlinking her fingers and then cracking her knuckles. "You have a plan, right?"

Link nodded. "Naturally."

There was a pause, then Willowreed said, "Are you going to share it with us, then? I mean, it's not like the three of us are just going to storm this probably very highly defended fortress through some sort of hidden underground passageway before holding the Fatman and the princess hostage so they accede to our demands, is it?"

"Oh, you know it?" said Link. "Saves me from having to explain, then." He looked quickly over his shoulder - and away from Willowreed's astonished face - as the _Soul of Courage _suddenly bore hard to starboard. "This is it. Get ready."

As Link untangled a rope ladder from the deck, Zelda leaned in close to Willowreed. "It's not that I'm not grateful," she said quietly, "but tell me again why you're still with us?"

The mercenary shrugged. "A Zora like me has very simple motivations: money or…fun. And what use is cash here in the Shadowspace?"

Zelda blinked. "So the killing, the mayhem – it's just for sport, is it? Your amusement?"

Willowreed grinned. "Exactly."

The princess stared back for a heartbeat, then, slowly, with eyes narrowed, she smiled herself. Wisdom glanced over the Zora's words and found them good. _She doesn't have to be a friend. Just a weapon._

Another thought nudged her: _Wisdom over principles. Didn't you say you wanted to make amends for that?_

Zelda was about to turn away when the Zora snaked out a hand and caught her arm. "But, tell me," said Willowreed, gesturing with her head towards Link. "Why is _he_ doing this?"

Zelda stared at her, hard. "Because…because he believes it's the right thing to do."

Willowreed cocked her head, her face disbelieving. "No money? No personal gain?"

Zelda shook her head. Stupidly, she felt a swell of pride rise in her phantom heart.

"Interesting," said Willowreed. "It's a wonder he lived so long, then. That's not how life works."

_Perhaps it should, then. How do we know until we try? Really try? _But, for some reason, Zelda's thoughts felt hollow, even to her.

The ship jerked, the hull groaning, and the two women fell to the deck. Glancing up, Zelda saw that the _Soul _had run aground again, its bow now sitting on a thin strip of sandy beachside surrounded by sloshing frothy waves. Link vaulted over the side. She heard him land on the beach with a soft _whumph_.

Zelda and Willowreed took the ladder. Link turned to the princess as she stepped onto the sand.

"It's strange," he said, his voice characteristically soft. He began to walk off, and Zelda quickly kept pace. "I don't know why, but I feel I'm actually _doing_ something now. Back in Hyrule, in my old life, I just felt so overwhelmed. Everywhere I looked, there was…_wrongness_, and I didn't know how to put it all right. Except by fighting it, of course. And that wasn't always the right thing to do, was it?"

Zelda didn't reply, feeling somewhat honoured to hear Link be so open like this. A forest alive with chirps and squawks beckoned ahead of them. Strangely enough, it was well lit, lanterns surrounded by flying buzzing insects lining almost every branch. Link led the way.

In the distance, Zelda spied the turrets and towers of a castle perched upon a hill, pennants flapping in the wind. Glowing, ghostly shapes encircled the whole structure.

"The castle," said Zelda.

"The castle," Link replied. "Too far away for us to be protected by the _Soul._"

"Don't they keep an eye on this coastline? Watchtowers and whatnot?"

"No," said Link. "They don't have a need to. They've crushed the spirit of the land, you see. They don't fear anything from their people now."

Zelda looked up at him. "Have you been to this castle before?"

"Yes. Once. There was a…demon…there. One I had to battle." He paused, then: "Lovely cake."

Zelda blinked rapidly. "Cake…?"

"The princess here," Link replied. "She likes making cakes."

"But…the demon?"

"Turns out that the weapon that would help slay the thing was in the cake itself."

"Oh."

"So was the demon."

"Oh."

"Saria," he said suddenly, glancing at the princess. "Did you ever find her? Was she safe? Well?"

Zelda swallowed. "The woman Vela," she replied. "Vela was Saria all along."

Link raised an eyebrow as this, but didn't delve any further. "What happened to her?"

"She's gone. Killed. By the -" a glance at Willowreed made Zelda change tack "- killed."

Link exhaled softly. "Then maybe she's in the Shadowspace somewhere. Maybe we'll find her. Wait." He stopped short, his eyes searching. He pointed. "Here they come. I called them back on the ship while you were asleep."

"Who?"

Link smiled, folding his arms. "Them."

Zelda squinted. A crowd of small shapes were shuffling their way out from deep in the forest. She blinked. And blinked again. Whereas the mushroom people she'd previously seen had _resembled_ fungi, the creatures that now revealed themselves really _were_ mushrooms: brown-capped heads, with large eyes and fanged teeth, they trundled into view on their comically large feet.

"Sit," Link said to the others, having already done so himself.

"Why?" asked Zelda.

"To show respect."

Willowreed snorted. "_Why?"_

Link ignored her. Zelda followed the Hero's lead quickly, sitting cross-legged beside him, and after a moment's deliberation, so did the Zora.

One of the mushrooms shuffled ahead of the others. "So," it said, its voice gargling, as though unused to human speech. "You've come back. Does that mean it's time?"

Link nodded. "It's time." He turned to the two women. "They know a way into the castle. A secret pipe of some sort."

"Be warned, though," the mushroom added. "No doubt the Fatman has it booby-trapped."

Another mushroom waddled shyly up to the seated group. It pushed a bowl of what looked a mush made from like soil and grass with its feet, and presented it to the princess. "Eat," the new mushroom said eagerly. "Eat, then pass onto friends. Yes?"

Zelda gazed down at the bowl. She felt her stomach retch. What did they need of food anyway? "I can't eat that."

"You can and you will," Link replied, quiet voice stern. "We're guests here."

Zelda sighed. Court etiquette took over – you never offended foreign hosts. She scooped a little of the mush up with her finger, then popped it into her mouth. She grimaced. It tasted as bad as it looked.

The serving mushroom looked up at her with hopeful eyes. "Good, yes?"

Zelda's eyes watered. She nodded enthusiastically, then shoved the bowl quickly to Willowreed.

"What's the meaning of this?" They all turned to the sound of the new voice, and saw Rose step out of the trees. She glared at them in turn.

Willowreed regarded her coolly. "That was quick."

"Warp Pipe." Rose, after a moment's hesitation, bowed her head towards the mushrooms, then sat herself down.

Rose looked at both Willowreed and Zelda. She allowed herself a cold smile. "I had a feeling about you two. Didn't expect you to throw in with our mystery man here. He's made quite the impact in his short visits. Not always positive." She examined his face now, her eyes darkening. "Do you even realise what you're doing?"

"Yes," said Link, then, with a sheepish expression, he shook his head. "No."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're ruining all my plans on a whim?"

"Yes. _No_. I mean, um." He cleared his throat. "I'm bringing your plans forward. In fact, I'm merging your plans with mine. So, basically, you could say we both have plans. Together. At the same time. Which turn out to be the same. Plan, that is. Though they're not really. Being that yours was completely different to mine." He gave Zelda an exasperated _Help me!_ expression.

The princess smiled sweetly at Rose. "Have you come alone?" she asked, deflecting the young woman's seething face away from Link.

"Yes," Rose replied, not missing a beat. "My colleague…" – she glanced up at the fortress in the distance – "well, let's just say to be this close to the castle wouldn't be good for him. Too personal." She gazed around the assembled throng, glancing at each face before, finally, her eyes came to rest on Link's yet again.

"Have some –" Zelda picked up the bowl, then frowned "-food."

Rose took it from her. "Thank you." If she had any distaste towards the stuff, Rose didn't show it. She ate with an enthusiasm that Zelda simply couldn't watch without feeling nauseous.

"So," said Rose, finally catching Link's attention again. "Tonight is the night?"

Link nodded, his confidence restored. "It is."

"I'm ready."

"Glad to hear it."

Her shoulders straightened, her posture taking on a regal hint. She set the bowl back onto the ground. "One condition, though."

"What's that?"

"If this is to be done, then we'll be doing it my way." She pulled a small cloth bag from her belt. It was tied at the neck with a dirty string, and golden light shone from within. "All you need to do is distract the princess and the Fatman. I'll do the rest."

She raised her chin, as though expecting a challenge. Link held her gaze for a heartbeat.

"It's settled, then," said Link. "Ladies, gents. Let's make haste." He turned to the chief mushroom. "Lead the way, good sir."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

They crept along the hollow metal pipe, the four of them – Link, Zelda, Willowreed and Rose – having left their mushroom guides at the lichen-covered entrance. A metallic echo followed their every step, their boots also sloshing through the dirty puddles that marked the floor every so often. Shimmering water reflected off of the cold, damp walls.

There was an edge to the atmosphere, a sharpness that set Zelda's phantom nerves tingling. No-one spoke. That was a good thing, she thought. She could imagine her tongue taking all of the tight tension within and using it to unfairly snipe and strike at the others.

Rose led the way, her glowing pouch the only source of light, and Link, Zelda and Willowreed followed suit. While she had her bow and Link the Master Sword, Zelda noticed that Rose had no weapon. Even the Zora still had the lance she'd stolen from the turtles back at the Docks.

_Probably why,_ Zelda mused, _she needs us to make this raid. _

When they'd reached the mouth of the pipe earlier that night, Link had given her bow a quizzical glance.

"I used it," she had said. "After you'd…gone. You know why?"

"No," Link had replied. "Why?"

"I was going to walk in your stead. Keep up the Old Ways."

It wasn't strictly true, given that she knew little about the Old Ways themselves, but somehow, childishly, she – a princess - had wanted to appear big and important in his eyes. He had shamed her with his smiling response: "I couldn't think of a better person to do it."

Zelda could. Yet, somehow, she couldn't quite express why that was. Dim memories of how she'd fared after Link's death muddled her mind. There was no clarity to them, no detail, no way of remembering what had actually happened. She just recalled vowing to take his place, and nothing much more than that. There wasn't any point pursuing it now.

So far they hadn't encountered any serious opposition. True, the moment they'd stepped into the pipe they had been accosted by ghostly, cackling spheres, but the party had soon realised that if they looked directly at the things, the creatures would back away, throwing spectral fins in front of their black eyes.

_Shy ghosts. How odd. _

They trekked on in silence, the chill air biting into their skin.

Zelda glanced up, just in time to catch Rose giving Link one of her odd looks.

It wasn't the first time, either. The young rebel's eyes held a glistening admixture of resentment, fear and admiration. Zelda didn't quite like that last one.

But she couldn't quite complain, either. Why should she, especially when Link's own eyes always seemed to find her, not Rose. Zelda's thoughts tracked back to a moment to a quiet moment she and Link had shared earlier that night. The Hero of Time had been glancing at her then, so much so that Zelda had simply said with a smile, "Link, this really isn't the time."

She'd meant it as a jest. She certainly hadn't expected the absent-minded distracted air that followed as the Hero fought for a courage he didn't usually have when in such social situations. "It's…it's…it's just that I can't believe you're here," he'd replied, mumbling. "You don't understand."

"No," she'd said, a little cautious. "I don't believe I do."

"My life," he'd said. "There was no joy in it. None at all. Being the Hero, excelling in battle, finding enlightenment with the Vor Shahal – all of it would fill me hope, hope that this would…would all… I don't know, quell the…the…the turmoil in my heart, the storm I feel inside." He winced a little, as embarrassed by the words stumbling out of his own mouth. "And all of it would leave me disappointed. Hurt, even. Especially when I met other people. Saw how _they_ were." He had smiled a short, sad smile. "Disappointment was my lot, I think. But to be here now, just to be in your presence – nothing more than that, just your presence – it's just…well…it's…it's enough."

Zelda had nothing to say to that. Truth be told, she was a little taken back by his awkward earnestness. What did he see when he looked at her – a symbol? A beacon of all that was good and wholesome? It made her feel more than a tad uncomfortable.

Her thoughts swirled back to the present.

A subtle shift in the air told them that they'd left the pipe and had entered a wider passageway, but aside from Rose's sliver of light, all that met them was a wall of pure darkness. Heat shimmered in the distance, caught on the draught.

"This reminds me," Willowreed said, her voice echoing. "There was this one job we had. Assassination. Some high and mighty nobleman in Hyrule. Small fry for us, of course. We had to sneak through the dark. Deep underground. He had this big manor, you see, riddled with secret tunnels. I got to the man first. Tore off his fingernails, shattered his kneecaps, and plucked out one eye."

The party stopped to turn and stare at the Zora. She smiled coldly back at them. "I also insulted his haircut. He didn't like that."

A frown rippled over Link's features. Zelda's phantom heart froze. Was he remembering?

If he had, he wasn't showing it. Link turned away, eyes front. Rose took another step forward, but Link suddenly vaulted ahead of her.

"Wait," he said softly, holding up a hand. "You feel that? There's…something in the air."

Rose frowned, but said nothing. Link's fingers flexed, his body tense. He looked to the left, then the right. His coat rippled in the faint draught. Zelda found that she was holding her breath.

Rose cleared her throat. "I don't think there's any-"

"Ssh!" Link held up a finger. His eyes were still searching. "Watch."

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a battered copper coin. He balanced it on his thumb, then flicked it into the space ahead of them. It spun in the air, rising in an arc, catching the glint of the faint light, then began to fall.

A massive cinder-block suddenly dropped out of the darkness ahead of them, flattening the coin and slamming into the ground with an audible _thwomp._ The resultant shockwave knocked them all of their feet. Zelda looked up just in time to see the grey block slowly begin to rise again. An angry face stared at them from the block's stone surface.

Link turned sharply to Willowreed. "Yours."

The Zora smiled. "Pleasure."

Her lance twirled in the darkness, rhythmically chopping the air as she readied herself for action. She took a few steps back, then turned to face the emptiness ahead. Willowreed inhaled. She began to run, lance spinning, picking up speed faster and faster. With a yell, she slid onto her knees, then planted the lance into the ground.

"Quickly now," Link said to the others, smooth and ice-calm. "Be ready to follow my lead."

The stone block fell. It cracked into the lance, splintering it in two, but the split-second of a pause that caused was enough for Link to roll through and out the other side. Rose and Zelda dived in next, then Willowreed, using the bottom half of the lance as a pivot, swung her way out into safety. The block landed, shattering what remained of the staff into a shower of splinters. It was all over within a few heartbeats.

Zelda stared, wide-eyed. She was gasping, taking large lungfuls of air. She didn't even need to breathe, but felt comforted doing so anyway. Fast. It had all happened so fast. She glanced over at the others.

Willowreed stood. The top half of her weapon rolled against her boot. She picked it up, brushed it down, then brought it to her eye. It was smaller now, and ended in a jagged stump. The Zora smiled yet again.

Rose waved her pouch, spilling light up ahead of them. Two levels revealed themselves. They themselves were in a lower passageway, the walls either side lined with a series of dim lantern-lit sconces set high up in the stone. Up above was the second level. Zelda's eyes widened. A throng of turtle Troopers, armed with sabres, gazed down at them.

Link didn't even wait. He sprinted down the corridor, vaulted up, caught the edge of a sconce with one hand, swung for a moment, building momentum, then somersaulted up to the next level. He'd struck two of the Troopers before they'd realised what was happening. Wading in, the Master Sword a blur, Link began to battle, a curved arc here, a sharp uppercut there, a pinpoint thrust, an elbow to the face – the Troopers fell easily, spinning shells flying in all directions.

Rose blinked as she watched. "Is he always this –"

"Yes," said Zelda. She smiled. "Yes, he is."

Quickly, Zelda raised her bow and shot at the remaining turtles. That done, they followed the Hero up to the second level. Link stood there, breathing heavily, sword lowered, the Fatman's Troopers lying defeated at his feet.

The sound of slow clapping rang out in the darkness. "Bravo!" said a voice. "Bravo, indeed!"

Zelda clutched hard her bow hard as the figure stepped into view.

"My name is Count Xain," he said. Link lifted his sword, but Xain raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "See?" he said. "No weapons." He licked his lips. "I didn't need them. I live for the fight, you see, for the blood rushing in one's ears. There's something…primal about it. Something…delicious. Don't you think so?

"Ah. Man of few words, I see. More an action person, right? Good. I've been wanting a new challenge. And you just might be it. So, how about it? You said earlier that you were game for a duel. How about one without weapons?"

"On one condition," Link replied. He nodded at his party. "That you let my friends pass."

Xain shrugged. "Fair enough," he said. "You must know by now that we've been waiting for you. All of you. They won't get far, anyway."

Link turned to them. "Go." He glanced at Rose. "Do what it is you came to do."

The young woman held his gaze for a moment. Her eyes shone again, this time with gratitude, along with something a little more, something like…

She kissed him suddenly on the cheek. "Thank you."

Link looked at shocked as Zelda felt. "Um," he offered. "Ah." Wearing a slightly dazed expression, he then quickly turned to face her. "Um. Highness –"

Zelda held her ground. "I'm staying."

"Princess-"

"I'm _staying_."

Link sighed, then nodded at the others. Zelda set her bow to the ground – she knew that Xain wouldn't trust her – and watched Willowreed and Rose dash off. She looked up at the Count. A flicker of recognition rippled over his face. Then, with a shake of his head, it was gone.

_Good_.

Link sheathed the Master Sword, then stepped up, fists at the ready. Count Xain stood opposite, a wide grin planted on his face. They circled each other, eyes wary, fingers flexing in nervous anticipation. They waited…waited…waited…

Sprung!

Xain's first swing missed, Link ducking easily. The Count brought a knee up to meet Link's lowered head, but only caught air as the Hero fell to the floor, then tried to sweep Xain's legs out from under him. The Count backflipped elegantly, laughing heartily all the way.

Zelda's heart sped. The swiftness of the two fighters was incredible and, she realised, they hadn't even touched each other yet.

That didn't last long.

A feint to the left followed by a quick punch to the jaw sent Link reeling. Xain followed through with a kick to the gut, the Hero doubling over as a result, then an elbow to the back of the neck that brought Link to his knees.

Xain grinned, swaggering as he measured the Hero up for the next blow. Zelda tensed, her chest tightening. She felt a prickle at the back of her mind.

Something else was here, too, a shadow at the very corner of her consciousness. Her head whirled around, searching. The walls! They were beginning to blur….beginning to _bleed. _Bleed darkness.

It was the Sorrow.

Waiting.

She could feel its terrible hunger. It wanted, ached, _needed _to devour the loser of this battle whole.

Zelda dug her nails into her palms so hard that they hurt.

The two combatants hadn't noticed. Still planted on his knees, Link's head rolled on his shoulders. Xain backed off a little, one eye narrowed as he aimed, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his pursed lips. He feinted once, twice, then drove in with a roundhouse kick aimed at the Hero's head.

Link threw his arms up into a cross, catching the strike at the very last moment. His leg trapped, Xain's eyes bulged as Link staggered to his feet. Link's trembling limbs still had him caught, then, with a shove, he sent the Count into a spin. Link slid to the ground and, with liquid swiftness, swept Xain's remaining leg away from the floor. As the Count tumbled to the ground, Link peppered him with a series of punches. Xain's head rolled as the flurry of blows came in, each one bringing him closer and closer to black unconsciousness.

The Sorrow leapt.

Zelda cried out.

"Stop!"

Link froze. Xain lay slumped on the ground, angry purple welts beginning to swell up on his face.

"Stop," she repeated. "You've won, Link. Don't let the Sorrow take him."

The Hero released the Count's tunic, letting him drop to the floor. "You're right," he said. Link strode off, without even looking up. Zelda hurried to catch up to him. A movement caught her eye.

"Wait," she cried. "Look!"

Link spun around, just in time to see a shroud of shadow wrap itself around Xain and the other fallen Troopers. The liquid gloom tightened, hugging the bodies it held tight. Frowning, the Hero watched as the darkness tumbled in on itself, leaving nothing behind.

"The Sorrow," he said. Unease shone in his eyes. "It's not even waiting anymore. It's just taking people."

Zelda felt another prickle, this one running down her spine. The air suddenly seemed suffocating, as though the Sorrow itself was closing in on them. She gave herself a little shake.

"We have to get to Rose and Willowreed," she said at last. "They're in danger."

With a nod, Link broke into a sprint, Zelda following close by. The shimmering heat began to grow now, and Zelda felt her tunic begin to stick to her skin. The walls were still blurring, liquid shadows reaching out to snatch at them. Zelda snarled in fear and frustration as they ran. They rounded a corner – then came to a sudden stop.

A pool of steaming, bubbling water sighed before them, spitting out random balls of crackling fire. There was a door opposite, shimmering in the heat, and between them and that were a series of moving platforms that seemed to hang suspended in the air. The water hissed, radiating waves of intense heat.

Link rubbed his chin, his eyes searching. "He's very thorough, this Fatman," he said. "Now. These platforms. There must be some way we can cross over using them. Some pattern. Watch closely, Princess. See if you can –"

Zelda raised her bow and let a light arrow loose. She'd spotted the mechanism built into the corner of the ceiling the moment she'd arrived. The arrow burned through it, gears shuddering, then grinding to a halt. The platforms shook once, then stopped cold, hovering over the pool. It would only take them a few leaps to cross over now.

Zelda turned to Link, smiling under her raised eyebrow. The Hero cleared his throat. "Um," he said. "Good job."

The platforms bobbed under their boots as they landed atop of them, but held firm enough to allow them safe passage. Link kicked the door open as soon as they reached it.

Inside, the room was eerily quiet. Sabres and lances littered the floor. A fire burned in one corner, and beside it stood Willowreed, nonchalantly blowing on her nails. Built upon the carcass of an immense dragon, a throne stood in the centre of the chamber. Rose sat there, face pale and almond-shaped eyes wide. The glowing pouch lay unopened in the young rebel's lap.

Zelda inched in behind Link, hand clutched tightly to her bow. Rose had the look of someone in a terrible shock. Zelda licked her lips, then asked, "What happened?"

Rose opened her mouth to speak, found no words, swallowed, then tried again. "Gone," she gasped. "We came in. We fought. The Fatman, the princess, their guards –" her eyes began to glisten "- gone. A…a shadow took them. A living shadow. At least, I think it was. It…it _consumed _them."

Zelda and Link exchanged a glance. The Hero stopped in front of the throne, but Zelda carried on, kneeling down and taking Rose's hand. It was pale and cold.

Rose met Zelda's gaze. "They were my friends once." She lapsed into silence for a moment, leaving the comment unexplained. "I didn't even get to use this." She gazed down at the pouch. "It's a star, you see. One that would have made me, for a time, untouchable. Unbeatable. All I needed was a way to get into here. Into the castle." Her eyes gazed around the room, as though searching for a hidden attacker. "And now…It's mine; the castle is mine. And I'm...I'm…I'm so _frightened._"

Her head dropped, tears running down her face. "They used to be my friends…"

Zelda clutched the rebel girl's hand, and tried to soothe her with shushing words.

Rose looked up at Link. "Was that…shadow…was that the Sorrow?"

Link gazed back, eyes hard. "I'll stop it."

Rose inclined her head. "Are you him?" she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. "Are you the champion we've been awaiting?"

Link didn't reply. Zelda squeezed Rose's hand. She felt a pressure ease at the back of her mind, felt the presence of the Sorrow retreat, fading away into the distance. Did that mean they were safe now?

"Come on," said Zelda. "You've got a whole land to put right." She smiled. "Let's get you ready."

…

The _Soul of Courage_ ploughed through the waters, heading straight for the rising sun. The strip of beach they'd landed on was fast receding in the distance, and standing atop it, smiling and waving, was Rose, some of the mushroom people – of both types – and the Fatman's brother.

_They'll be alright_, Zelda mused. _They'll be too busy now to think about the Sorrow._

Unlike her. A thought had caught her mind and was refusing to let go. Link, standing at his now customary position on the foredeck, glanced at her.

"What is it?"

Zelda, arms folded, hugged herself tightly. "Something Rose said," she explained. "When we first met her."

Willowreed came to stand at her side, her attention piqued.

Zelda went on. "She said that there were many worlds, that the Shadowspace had manifested a semblance of all those worlds."

Link watched her closely. "Go on."

Zelda paused, waiting to allow her thoughts to slot into place. "It seems to me that when people die, many of them end up in a semblance of the worlds that they'd just left. Not all, obviously. It didn't happen to Willowreed and me."

"Or me. But -?"

"But…I'm thinking. You're Hylian, Link. And you're the Storm Star, the only one that can defeat the Sorrow."

If he felt any pride at this, any puffing of the ego, he didn't show it. Zelda, used to the preening and prancing of court noblemen, felt a surge of love for him for that. He gestured for her to continue.

"It seems to me," he said. "That if you're the one the Sorrow has to face, and the Sorrow itself has a physical form in the Shadowspace…well, doesn't it make sense that the place that you'll both meet is…is whatever passes for Hyrule here?"

"The Shadowspace's copy of Hyrule?" Willowreed said. "Interesting."

"Makes sense," Link replied. "We have to find it first. Let's see what's out there. All hands on deck!"

Zelda smiled. "Aye, aye, captain!"

With a click of his fingers, the _Soul of Courage _steadily rose from the sea, sheets of water dripping from its hull. The howling wind flew into their face as the galleon's bow pointed itself at the horizon and tore through the air.

Zelda caught her breath as a spinning black hole opened up in front of them. The darkness grew larger and larger, a yawning gap in the fabric of reality itself, threatening to smother them whole. A myriad different voices sang from the opening, each sourced from a completely different realm. Zelda scrunched her eyes shut.

The _Soul of Courage_ sailed through, and out into a new world.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

On waves of moonlight and under a canopy of stars, the _Soul of _Courage sailed the night sky. Link leaned back against the bronze railing of his ship, one hand rubbing his chin and, as was his wont as he travelled the portals between worlds, pondered on the nature of the life he'd left behind.

It wasn't the greed, the cut-throat ruthlessness, the cruelty or even the casual way people would put others down or use others for their own selfish reasons that bothered him, no. It was the idea, the strange, cynical idea, that all of this was somehow normal, that it was all an intrinsic part of human nature.

Something in his soul had recoiled violently at that idea before his death, and it made him slip into melancholic contemplation even now. Was it arrogance to think this way? Or was it sorrow? Not _the_ Sorrow, of course. Just a bedrock of sadness that framed the entirety of both his life and now his afterlife.

He remembered, from that previous life, the distress that had urged him to solitude, that had chosen for him the life of a ranger. That, and the cold shroud of alienation.

Solace he had sought with the Vor Shahal. Finally, he had thought, he had found a people that held within them a nobility and dignity that was as rare as red sulphur in others. But, for all their high blown ideals, he'd witnessed the same flaws within the Lost Tribe of the Sheikah, the same complex machinations that served only their self-interests.

He still felt the sting of that disappointment even now.

It just wasn't _right_. And he couldn't see why other people gave in to it so easily.

_Yes, I do, _he mused. _Given the choice it's just so very easy __**to **__give in and let your passions take you by the nose. Easier than standing up to your own self. _

That answer, though never completely satisfying him, did at least make him understand, did at least move his heart to some semblance of compassion.

And, besides, it wasn't as though he was completely flawless himself, was it?

Was it that, he wondered, that had caused the Vor Shahal to label him the Storm Star? His heart certainly was a brooding tempest of emotion: a war, on one side his sadness and alienation at the way people were, and on the other his compulsive urge to do what was right. And over it all now was the conviction that, somehow, everything would turn out all right, that all the things he'd seen had some deeper reason that was beyond his ken of understanding. It made his head hurt.

_Sometimes I just think too much._

He glanced up. The otherworldly wind that buffeted the galleon howled in his ears. He could see, from their faces, that the princess and her friend - what was her name again? Willowmead? No, Willow_reed_ - were not enjoying the experience. Truth was, the ship had already entered whatever new world that awaited them here; it just took a little time for the effects of the portal to fade completely away.

He glanced at the Zora again. Something sparked deep inside of him, some trace of a memory that he couldn't quite grasp. Link dismissed it. Maybe he did know Willowreed from his old life, but what of it? It didn't seem to matter much now, did it?

A shudder ran through the timbers of the ship. Another followed quickly, this one so strong that Link could feel it in his phantom bones. He frowned. A deep, bellowing laugh followed.

Link sprang to his feet and whirled around. Zelda stared back at him, shocked.

"What was that?" she cried.

The ship lurched.

Willowreed rode the momentum, diving into a roll before settling into a crouch. Link, as ever, stood his ground, his boots firmly planted. Zelda tumbled straight into him. He held her firm with his arms.

Link froze. Despite the sudden danger, being so close to the princess seemed to have uncomfortably turned his brain to ice. He felt no warmth from her, though. Not even the beating of her heart. They were dead, and the hard reality of it slammed into Link right there and then.

Zelda noticed his discomfort. Quickly clearing her throat, she sprang from his grasp, then began to nonchalantly smooth down her Sheikah tunic.

The laugh bellowed again. Link blinked. There was something oddly familiar about that voice…

The _Soul of Courage_ tipped forward out into the sky. Yelling, all three of them slid down to the deck, crashing into the copper-coloured railing. Cold metal pressed into their faces. Now stripped of the last vestiges of the portal, the passengers could see exactly where they were going:

Straight down.

As the ship plummeted, the laugh echoed again. Link, the wind whipping his eyes, could make out buildings and a sprinkle of lights below, along with a thin shimmery line that he assumed was the local waterway. The _Soul_, though, was heading directly for one of those buildings.

One hand clutching the railing, Link forced himself to turn around, his free hand reaching out towards the ship's wheel. The massive sails billowed and flapped violently, threatening to tear from the riggings. Link felt gravity tug at him, felt his stomach shoot straight to his throat.

"I…can't…"

And he couldn't. Somehow, whatever mental link he had with the ship was being blocked. He felt the princess clutch at his sleeve, found the touch oddly comforting. Then the laughing began again, ringing in his ears.

A yell made the two of them look up. Willowreed had let go of the railing and had, somehow, impossibly, rolled back along the deck. Her muscles rippled as she fought against the downward force. Another feral yell tore from her straining throat. She leapt into the air, her hand catching the ship's wheel mid-somersault. With a tug, she set the wheel spinning, then let go, tumbling into the night sky head over heels.

Zelda yelled. "No!"

But it was too late. The Zora had flown away from the ship, hanging momentarily in mid-air. A ribbon of pure darkness spat out of the sky and wrapped itself around the woman. Her eyes widened, her terror filled gaze catching the princess one last time. Then the darkness collapsed, and Willowreed vanished. The Sorrow had taken her.

Zelda screamed in frustration again. Link turned back to the railing. He couldn't help the princess now. The ship was spiralling out of control, but he could see that the Zora had done it: she'd changed their direction; they would safely hit the waterway now.

_Safely?_

Link pushed with his mind and found, to his delighted shock, that he could _feel_ his ship once again. He began to rein her back in.

"Slowly now," he murmured. "Slow…down…" He threw a protective arm around the princess. "Hold on!"

Zelda leaned into him, melting without resistance. She was sobbing, saying over and over, "She saved us, she saved us, she-"

The _Soul of Courage_ hit the river.

Link remembered little after that. There was the shock of icy cold water careening into his body, flooding his mouth and nose, there was the empty sensation in his arms as Zelda was swept away from him, and then there was nothing but darkness and the steady creak of wood.

When he opened his eyes next, he found himself laying flat on the glistening deck. Zelda had already begun to stumble to her feet. Both of them were drenched, their hair matted to their brows. Link grabbed the railing, then hauled himself to his feet. It was a miracle that they both hadn't been thrown overboard.

Or was it?

_I'm dead. I travel in a flying ship. Clearly the rules in the Shadowspace are different to my old life. Think! Surely there's something there I can exploit…?_

He was distracted out of his thoughts by the princess drawing level to him. She held herself tightly, her eyes hard.

"I'm sorry," he said, gazing down at her. "About your friend."

Zelda looked up at him, blinking. An odd expression passed over her face. "Why would she do that? She saved us," was all she said before falling into contemplative silence. Link let her be. He wasn't that skilled in giving comfort. At least, not through words, anyway. Instead, he gazed out at the new world.

Link frowned. There was no give to the ship's bow. The current here was thick, as though the _Soul_ was wading through sludge. It was dark, too. Lights glittered from both banks, housed in strange, rusting metallic buildings. He saw strangely dressed people peek in and out of the shadows, staring as the galleon made its unhurried passage.

Taller structures stood in the distance, bathed in a strange hue of green and red, and shooting jets of smoke into the sky. Huge steel pipes were everywhere. Some were allowing brown gloop to spatter into the equally murky river. Debris and flotsam drifted over the oily water.

Link felt his nose twitch. The air here was equally strange, burnt and full of tiny motes of dirt and grease. A thick, cloying mist hung everywhere he looked.

Zelda gazed around, eyes wide. "There's so much…iron," she said. Misery wrinkled her face. "Where are the trees? The grass?" She looked up. "The sun?"

Link followed her gaze. He had assumed that it was night time here, but now he saw how wrong he was. The sky was a mass of writhing, pulsing darkness, throbbing to some unseen beat. As they watched, a tornado of pure blackness winded away from the sky, twirled to the ground below, and snatched away a woman walking beside the riverbank. Her screech of fear was instantly smothered.

Zelda gasped.

Link felt a chill descend within. "The Sorrow," he said. "It's the Sorrow."

When she could find her voice again, the princess asked "Whatever in the world was that laugh we heard? In the sky?" She blinked, her face mournful. "Was that the Sorrow, too?" She looked straight at him. "Are we getting close to it?"

Link had no reply.

_Whatever this place is, _he mused. _It's not the Hyrule that we're looking for. It's time to move on. _

Link was about say such when the princess suddenly pointed ahead of them. "Look!" she cried. "Someone's there! On the river!"

Link peered through the darkness. There was, indeed, a wooden raft bobbing up and down on the water, peopled by two figures, one tall, one small. It seemed to be in chase of another raft further upstream, this one also carrying two passengers, again one tall, one small.

"Oh, no," Zelda gasped. "Look where the river goes."

Up ahead, the river flowed into a dark tunnel under another one of those monstrous steel buildings. Flames flickered from the tunnel's mouth, and a dull molten glow barely pierced the darkness within.

"We have to help them," said Zelda. She turned again to look directly at Link. "Right?"

The Hero held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. These people, whoever they were, were sailing into danger. With a flick of his fingers, the _Soul of Courage_ began to pick up speed, turning slightly to intercept the nearest raft.

Zelda's hands gripped the railing as they drew near. "It's…" she gasped, shock blossoming on her face. "Oh, my! Look, Link. It's Malon! And that little boy with him. I know him! His name is Sal!"

_Malon. _Hope and uncertainty swirled in Link's heart.

He looked. The familiar flame-haired woman was staring straight ahead, as though she hadn't even noticed the approach of his immense ship. There was a little boy with her, an urchin dressed in rags. He clutching desperately to a dirty wooden sword.

"Malon," Link called, quietly at first, then, "Malon!"

The ranch woman looked up with a frown. The little boy stepped in front of her, sword at the ready. "Stay away!" he called. "This is Rebellion business!"

"Sal?" Zelda said gently. "Don't you remember me?" When the little boy responded with a suspicious scowl, she added, "Of course he doesn't. I was Sheik then."

Link looked startled. "You were?"

"Not now, Link," she replied. "Can you get the ship to block their path?"

"Sit it in front of them?" he asked. "Definitely."

Malon finally stirred below them. "It's Tayer and Ben," she said, pointing at the other raft. "I have to get to them. I've been followin' them for so very long. It's a wonder why they can't ever hear me." She then turned to the _Soul_. "Who are you people?"

"She doesn't remember us," the princess said. Link heard the sadness in her voice and felt it weigh down on his own heart.

_Too much sorrow…_

Zelda turned to Link, opening her mouth to speak yet again, but he was already ahead of her. "Block both the rafts," he said. He felt a surge of confidence, the way he usually did when he had something useful to do. Much better than just sitting and talking. "We just have to get to the tunnel before they do."

With a mental push, the _Soul_ cut a quick past both boats, setting the rafts bobbing wildly in the ship's wake. Sal, the young urchin, shook his fist in frustration. Link smiled.

"Who's Tayer?" he asked.

"Malon's betrothed," Zelda replied. She must have seen something on his face because she added, "I _know._ It's wonderful, isn't it?" Her voice became pensive. "Or it would have been had they not both died."

Link's found that his own feelings were bittersweet on the matter. "And Ben?"

"A young friend," the princess said. "A mutual one."

"We'll save them."

"I hope so."

Link found his gaze momentarily taken by a huge squat building to their left. It pulsed with a sickly jade light and buzzed with some strange sort of energy. It was marked in a script that Link, surprisingly, found he could read, though some of the letters were clearly missing. It read:

S CTOR 5 M KO REACT R

Link couldn't make any sense of it. Turning back, he saw that the _Soul_ was now fast approaching the mouth of the tunnel. Something hissed from deep inside it. With a flick of his wrist, he began to turn the galleon starboard, so that the ship now blocked the tunnel's entrance.

"Get the rope ladder," he said. "We'll haul them all on board."

The deep, booming laughter returned, closer now, and louder. Zelda froze mid-task. Link slowly looked up at the building that stood towering atop the tunnel. His heart skipped a beat. There was a figure there, a small one hanging spread-eagled in limp silence.

Recognition made his phantom heart tighten. "Saria!"

Metal squealed in response. Sparks flew from the steel structure above. Girders and beams began to twist, turning in on themselves, curving around, snapping shut together, slowly, ever-so-slowly, changing, morphing, and finally settling into a new shape: a giant Gerudo face. A face that both Zelda and Link recognised.

"Skellow…" breathed the princess.

The fiery yellow orbs that formed the Gerudo's eyes stared down at them. Metal groaned. Sparks shot from his steel lips as they stretched into a wide smile.

"_So_," he rasped. "_We meet again."_

The princess had already transformed her fear to rage. "Skellow," she spat, drawing her bow. "I killed you once, I'll kill you again."

Mirth rumbled from the giant face._ "Observe," _he said. "_Look how I have manipulated you all, brought you all to this one point. Here, not only will my hunger for vengeance be satiated, but I shall take my bride, too. Isn't that right, princess?"_

Zelda roared in anger as she let loose a trio of light arrows. They struck the rivets and bolts that lined the Gerudo's face, then vanished harmlessly with a flash.

Link stepped in front of her and slid the Master Sword free. "I think you and I have unfinished business, Gerudo."

The laugh that followed resembled the bellows in a steel furnace. "_I think so, too_,"Skellow replied. "_But not one-on-one, sadly. This world here is full of the most useful tools. And I, well I have found myself quite the bluntest of instruments. Observe. My minion."_

A figure stepped out of the shadows and stood atop a ledge that lipped the mouth of the tunnel. Link glanced first at Saria, then the metal face of Skellow, then down to the newcomer. Confidence ran through his veins. He knew himself too well, knew that in the ordinary situations that most people found so comfortably easy, he was nothing more than an awkward mess. But here, in situations like _this, _not only did he have no equal, but he thrived on it, too.

With a quick inhalation of breath, Link took the running jump that he needed to somersault over to the ledge.

His head snapped quickly back to the princess. "Help Malon and the others," he called. "Skellow and his puppet are mine."

Zelda hesitated a moment, clutching her bow, then nodded sharply and ran over to the ship's starboard side.

Link looked up, taking in a good look at his challenge. The man before him was slim, dressed in a sleeveless shirt of deep indigo. He had blond hair that spiked up in all directions. The man's eyes glowed blue in his hard face. Most of all, though, and the thing that Link had noticed first, was the newcomer's weapon: it was a sword of immense size, a blade several feet long and so massive that the Hero of Time wondered how the man could hold it with such consummate ease.

Skellow's grating laughter rippled through the air. "_Now this is something I would have waited all eternity to see._" Metal strained and rivets flew as he turned to his minion. "_Strife! Listen to my command! Kill this whelp! Kill the Hero of Time!"_

The man named Strife brought his huge sword to bear. Link calmed his phantom nerves and readied the Master Sword. Water sloshed lazily beneath them. Link's frock coat fluttered in the slight breeze. Their eyes locked. Wary of the other, they each shifted into an appropriate stance.

Swinging their blades, the two warriors began to battle.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Zelda dragged the rope ladder over to the side then threw it over as the battle raged behind her. She heard the last rung splash into the water, heard, too, the two rafts bumping against the _Soul_'_s_ hull.

Skellow's rasping voice rumbled in the air. "_Watching you all squirm and struggle brings such joy to my heart. And this world – the wonders they have here, with such exotic names. Mako, Materia…"_

Zelda ignored the words as the Gerudo rambled on. They had a deranged tilt to them, and it wasn't wise to dwell. Instead, she peered over the ship's railing.

"Come on!" she called, gesturing frantically with her palm. "Pull yourselves up!"

No-one moved below. Tayer and Ben sat stock-still, as though they were meditating and in no danger whatsoever. Malon and Sal just sat staring at the other two. Zelda felt her palms curl to into fists. What was wrong with them? Had they all become mind-addled?

_What if they have? Death might affect different people in different ways._

"Malon, please!" Zelda cried. "You'll be safe up here!"

Irritation bit at her within. _Chosen One! Surely a jest! _ She was meant to help Link, or so the Vor Shahal had led her to believe, but so far she hadn't actually seen what she'd done to make any difference. Bad enough that the one wall of that steel building above had transformed itself into a huge likeness of Skellow's hated face, but now she couldn't help Link fight him, either…?

Old doubts began to resurface under the skin of her mind. What if she failed in her task? What if she'd failed already?

She threw a glance over her shoulder and, momentarily, stood transfixed.

Framed in a halo of spiralling sparks, Link took on the spiky-haired stranger with the ridiculously oversized sword. The Master Sword darted in and out, searching for an opening, but every chance was blocked, every attack parried under a shower of burning metal embers. Zelda saw the determination etched on each combatant's face, saw the grim steel in their eyes. Faster and faster they danced, twirling, spinning, metal kissing metal. Neither man had an advantage.

_He should be safe, though, right?_ Zelda mused. _So long as he's near his ship, Link can't be harmed by the Sorrow._

As if in response to her thoughts, the princess heard Skellow's droning, metallic laughter. Iron squealed as the giant face turned to gaze down at her. Zelda saw Saria dangling above, chained to the part of the steel wall that hadn't yet been transformed.

There was a moment's silence as Zelda locked her eyes with Skellow's, then, with a _whoosh_, a tongue of flame flicked out from the tunnel, setting the water beneath bubbling, and smashed into the _Soul._

Zelda screamed as splinters and sparks plumed into the air, like fresh stars strewn into the Sorrow-drenched sky, then rained back down in a torrent of heat. The port side of the ship was ablaze, and flames began to eat their way up the sails. A long groan rang from the timbers of the deck, a laboured death rattle that Zelda could feel in her every phantom bone, nerve and sinew. Slowly, the _Soul of Courage _began to keel over on her starboard side.

Zelda slapped the cold railing in frustration. She glanced over the side. "Hold on," she called. "I'm coming down to –"

She paused, frowning. Tayer had begun to shift, slowly twisting his torso in order to face Malon. A smile spread over the ranch woman's face in response. Hesitantly at first, then with growing strength, they began to raise their arms, finger-tips outstretched, reaching, reaching, reaching…

Zelda's frown deepened. The water beneath the rafts began to bubble, lit by some unseen jade glow. The little boats bobbed wildly with the new momentum. She saw Ben glance up at her. He smiled and gave her a little wave. Zelda felt her heart twist. He recognised her…?

Malon and Tayer touched fingers. A flash of emerald light followed, then both rafts and their passengers vanished. The princess blinked rapidly, utterly confused.

A crash behind her made Zelda jump out of her reverie. One of the masts, itself nothing more than a withering blackened shadow in a cocoon of flame, had collapsed onto the deck. Heat billowed out from the impact, engulfing her momentarily in a wash of stifling air that brought sweat to her skin in an instant. She cursed inwardly. She had no time to puzzle out what had just happened to her friends. Gingerly, she hauled herself over the side, clinging to the railing now with just her blanched fingers. Zelda cursed again – she just hoped that she remembered enough of all those swimming lessons Impa had given her back at Lake Hylia.

Zelda scrunched her eyes shut and then let go.

…

Link heard Strife's sword whistle above his head as he ducked the warrior's swing. Launching forward, the Hero drove in with a thrust, but the other man swiftly swivelled away to safety. Strife was good, Link had to admit, and the fact that neither man had yet touched the other was a testament to both their skills.

Link shuffled on the narrow edge, watching warily. Reflected water shimmered on Skellow's huge steel face beside them. Link glanced up, saw Saria still hanging there, motionless. His chest contracted sharply at the sight. He brought his regard back to Strife. Still neither man moved.

_The first one to tire out will lose. Unless…_

He didn't have time to finish the thought. Strife went for his legs, and Link had to swiftly backflip out of the way. He landed with a slight stumble. A sharp crack made him turn his head. Link's eyes widened as he saw his ship judder under an unseen impact, then erupt into flames. Strife saw the hesitation and dove in, cracking Link's face with a sharp jab.

The Hero stumbled back, dazed, his vision swimming, his ears now filling with Skellow's grating laughter. Strife followed through, sword at the ready, eager for the kill. Link snapped alert at the very last second, parrying the strike aside with the Master Sword.

They both fell back, eyes still locked. Link could hear wood pop and split the pressure of fire, saw Strife's face cloaked in a half-mask of molten shadow. He had no time to think of his ship now. His phantom heart spiked as he remembered that the princess was still aboard. The fingers of his free hand flexed. Slowing his breathing, Link forced himself to calm. Zelda could take care of herself. He trusted her that much.

Right…?

_I just have to deal with this little inconvenience. _Anger at being held back from the princess began to blossom out from within his soul. _Now. _

As though responding to the directions of an unseen maestro, both warriors leapt at each other at exactly the same moment. Link parried the first blow, spun, then parried again. Strife thrust, Link blocked, then kicked the other man away. With a yell, the Hero drove in with a fierce stab, but found only Strife's huge sword blocking his path. Link rode the momentum, twirling around, then went in low – blocked again.

With a shove, Strife pushed Link away, then brought his sword around in an arc designed to take the Hero's head off. Link vaulted up, somersaulting over Strife's head, landing behind him, then swinging the Master Sword around, tearing air. Strife managed to spin away to safety. Barely.

Frustrated, Skellow's warrior ploughed in with a haphazard thrust to the chest. Link skewed the strike aside – and then the real dance began. Spinning, blocking, thrusting, parrying, the two men became a blur, sweat and sparks flying, steel flashing. Sparkling light, piercing against the gloomy Sorrow-filled sky, streamed from the Master Sword with every swerve and slice.

Link thrust for Strife's face, but met steel as the warrior slammed his sword up to protect. Strife skewed aside another attack, whirling, then whirled yet again and stabbed forward. Link slid under the attack, his back arching, then sprung back upright, swinging in for another strike.

Strife somersaulted backward. The moment his boots touched the ground, he threw himself forward into a roll, then sprung out of it, swinging for Link's legs. The Hero swiftly plunged the Master Sword into the metal wall on his right, clung to the blade, then swung his legs up and away from the attack. He hung upside down for a heartbeat, then swung back down, legs stiff, and cracked his boots into Strife's skull. Skellow's warrior rode the blow, then prevented Link from following through by jabbing him in the head with a hard elbow.

Link pulled his sword free from the wall. Strife clutched hard to his. They both whirled in for another waltz.

Still neither man had a clear mark against the other to their name. No skin split, no blood spilt.

_It's no good_, Link mused, as he broke off another attack and stood back. _We're too evenly matched. Advantage, advantage – what's my advantage? I'm – I'm - _ He glanced up at Skellow's huge metallic face - _I'm dead. I'm a ghost!_

Link spun his sword, letting it chop air, then thrust it, point first, into the ground. Stone chips flew away from the impact. Strife hesitated, confused.

_I'm a ghost, _Link chanted within. _I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost._

Metal screeched. Skellow's harsh laugh vibrated through the air. _"What's the matter?_" he crowed. "_Giving up so soon?" _He cackled, like the sound of a thousand cannonballs rumbling down the slopes of Death Mountain. "_Strife – finish him!"_

Strife raised his blade, eyes narrowed. He stood feet apart, ready to strike. His posture, too, had a defensive aspect to it. Link had to admire the man for that. He was clearly ready for any unforeseen surprise. Slowly Strife pulled his sword arm back, muscles tense.

Link maintained his inner chant. _I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost!_

Strife's arm sprang forward, his sword flying straight for Link's chest.

It passed clean through.

Harmlessly.

Shock exploded on Strife's face. He lost his grip, his huge blade clattering to the ground. Link grinned. He was dead, a ghost, nothing more than an insubstantial spirit – how could a mere sword hurt him? Shame Strife hadn't got the message.

Link exploded into life. He tugged the Master Sword free, a whirling steel blur, then swung it around and straight through Strife's neck. The warrior's head went flying. His body stumbled awkwardly for a moment, then toppled into the river below with a splash. Shadowy tar bubbled around the impact point – the Sorrow had him now.

Link tipped his head, acknowledging his fallen opponent as a worthy one, then turned to the Skellow face, and _pulled _with his mind. Metal groaned and creaked, bolts and rivets shattering. Steel rippled.

"_No!" _the Gerudo cried. "_No! How could this be?"_

The metal plates that lined Skellow's face began to peel slowly away. They hung limply for a heartbeat, then fluttered into the wind. Link stood still and watched, his coat billowing.

"It's simple," he said. "I'm not alive, so why should I follow the rules the living do? I just had to stop thinking like a living person. It was all in my head. Even the Vor Shahal didn't know that. But you knew, didn't you, Skellow? You knew all this already. Hence this new form of yours."

Skellow bellowed his rage. His steel face fell apart, the golden eyes shattering before falling out of their sockets, the last scraps of iron hitting the ledge below, then spinning away to crash into the frothy river.

Two of the chains that imprisoned Saria snapped open. Link started. Panic made him leap into action. He weaved in and out, balancing precariously on the ledge and dodging the falling hail of metal. Another chain snapped. Link grit his teeth and flung himself forward. The final chain dissolved just as the Hero arrived. He caught her easily, then held her tight. Her eyes were still closed, her body limp.

The carnage all around had ended. Now that the entire steel building had collapsed, Link had room to move forward. Smoke twined around his ankles, and broken metallic debris stuck under his boots. A look behind him told him the fate of his ship – only the prow remained now, the rest having sunk. He tried, vainly, to _pull _the ship with his mind. Nothing happened. He still didn't know how things worked in the Shadowspace, didn't what he could or could not control.

Link spared the _Soul of Courage _one last glance. A keen sense of loss sliced his phantom heart.

His eyes searched. Zelda – where was Zelda?

Another sound made him face front.

A huddled form sat in the middle of where the original steel building had stood, hands clasped around his legs, head buried in his arms. Link felt a sour, copper taste fill his mouth as recognition came. It was Skellow, in his original Gerudo body.

Something wet slapped the stone ledge behind him. The Hero turned around yet again. He saw Zelda drag herself onto the ledge. She was shivering, her clothes and skin thoroughly drenched. Water dripped from her tunic as she stood.

Link felt sweet relief wash away the heaviness upon his heart. "You're safe," he breathed.

Zelda smiled at him. "That I am," she said, pausing to splutter some liquid from her throat. She coughed, then grimaced, presumably at the taste of river water. "And so are you. I'm…I'm glad."

Link cleared his throat. "I'm glad, too."

Saria stirred in his arms. "Honestly…" she said, her voice still weak and drawling. "You two are worse than children. Just say you love each other and put yourselves out of your own misery."

Link and Zelda both stiffened. "Well," he said, flustered. "I mean, naturally, no, yes, no, not naturally, I mean –"

Zelda, her cheeks bitten with a rose tint, stumbled, too. "It wouldn't be – we don't really – I – I …"

Saria laughed. Her large eyes met Link's. "Is it you? Really?"

Link smiled down at her. "It is. I was looking for you."

She raised a hand to gently stroke the Hero's cheek. "I can't believe you're here. Both of you. I never thought I'd see you both again. Link, I…I felt myself die…_die. _Then there was darkness…then… Skellow found me." Blinking away the memories, she then turned to Zelda. "Malon? Is she here, too?"

Zelda glanced from Saria to Link, then back again. "She…was. I don't…don't know what happened to her. Or what happened to any of them. Link…they just vanished. There was a strange, green glow. And then they disappeared."

Link felt a memory stir within. "Green…?"

A small, harsh voice made them all look up. "I'm not afraid," said Skellow, finally raising his head. "I'm not afraid of any of you."

Saria tugged at Link's tunic, a gesture that told him she wanted to be let go. Link hesitated for a heartbeat, then, gingerly, placed her on her feet. He swallowed. His old friend – the one he'd searched for all this time – seemed so small and fragile. Before she could step away, he engulfed her in a sudden, fierce hug.

"Um…" he said, as he looked at Saria's dazed expression. "I –"

She smiled. "I missed you, too."

She pulled away from him, then turned to Skellow. "You," she spat. "You're the cause of all of this."

Zelda had already slid her bow free, but Saria stilled her with a raised hand. "No," the Kokiri said. "He's mine."

Link watched as Saria stumbled a little before gaining her strength. She strode over to the Gerudo. Skellow stared back at her, eyes like flint and unblinking. Link tensed. How much could the Gerudo manipulate in the Shadowspace? Skellow didn't seem like he was going to fight back – truth be told, the man seemed utterly broken.

The Kokiri and the Gerudo faced each other for a moment more, neither one moving, not even a twitch of their muscles. Then, with a snarl, Saria slapped him hard in the face.

Skellow slowly turned his head back to face her. A smug grin began to stretch on his lips. Saria's eyes flared. She raised her hand again –

And then what happened next was a blur. A huge dark hand sprouted from the ground and engulfed both Saria and Skellow whole. Zelda screamed. Link started forward, sure that this was the Gerudo's doing and cursing himself for not acting earlier.

In the end, it didn't really matter. Link froze, mid-sprint. The last thing he saw before the hand snapped shut was his old friend staring at him in cold, helpless terror. The hand vanished – and Saria and Skellow were both gone.

This hadn't been Skellow's doing at all.

The Sorrow had them both now.

Zelda, her face stunned, sank to her knees. "Not her…" she moaned. "Saria's suffered so much already." Anguish tore at her voice as she threw back her head. "_She's suffered enough!_"

Link kept his breathing steady. Cold desolation swirled around his phantom heart. Life or death, it didn't seem to matter – bitter disappointment chased him at every turn. Some part of his mind told him that he should go comfort the princess. Another part reminded him that he probably didn't know how.

"I think…" he said at last, clearing his throat so that his voice could gain some weight. "I think it's time for the Sorrow and I to meet face-to-face." He raised his head, his eyes meeting the shadowy swirl in the sky, then shouted: "What do you say? Let's end it! You and me!"

Glass splintered. The world shook. Zelda slowly dragged herself to her feet, then ran over to Link. "What was..?"

Another crack rang in the air. Link blinked. "Look," he said. "Look at the…the…the – Look at that!"

There was a thin, hair-line crack running through the entire world. Glass splintered again. The crack began to spread, spider-webbing throughout the whole of reality. Tiny shards of colour spun outward in every direction. The shaking intensified. Bits of the world began to fall away, revealing a blinding whiteness beyond.

Link grabbed Zelda's wrist and pulled her close. He threw his other arm around her protectively. The world began to collapse, jagged panes of reality that tumbled away all around them. Slowly at first, and then quicker and quicker, peeling away like a shattered eggshell. The whole of reality was, literally, falling apart around their very ears.

A phosphorous flash of white forced them both to close their eyes.

When they opened them again, they found themselves on an immense plain, grass and hills stretching away from them in all directions. The sun shone in a clear blue sky, and the singing of birds pierced the air. In the distance, far, far, away, they both spied the turrets and pennants of a series of tall towers.

"Do you recognise it?" asked Zelda. "Because I do."

Link nodded. A heavy sense of finality settled on his soul. "We're here," he said. "That place over yonder. That's Hyrule Castle."

"Where we're expecting the Sorrow," said Zelda. She cupped her eyes from the sun as she squinted into the distance. "In some sort of physical form."

"Exactly," Link replied, voice ever quiet. "It looks like the Sorrow has decided to accept the challenge."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Link wanted to hold her. It wasn't something he could easily dismiss, either. The strength of the feeling surprised even him. Hold her. Hold the princess. He knew that the idea went against every notion of propriety he'd ever been taught, but why would that now matter considering they were no longer alive?

Saria, the Old Ways, the Kokiri, the Vor Shahal: Bitter wounds festered in the pit of his phantom heart and his soul cried out for a crumb of comfort. The more time they spent here trudging through the green fields in each other's presence, the more the feeling grew. He craved it now – but what could he do? Just sweep her up and gather her in his arms? She was a high-born princess; she'd never stand for that.

Not only did he want to hold her, he wanted, too, to not let her go. He almost shook his head – he was beginning to sound like the fantastical songs that minstrels and bards would deliver in run-down inns all across Hyrule.

And yet the feeling clung to him fast. He wanted to hold her tight, not let go, and stay that way forever.

He did shake his head now.

"What is it?" asked the princess.

"Nothing important."

They fell into silence as they walked. Link wished he could add something witty or charming, flatter the princess in the same manner that the noblemen back in Hyrule's court would. She'd appreciate that, wouldn't she? Make her feel at home, yes?

His mind found nothing.

_Forest bumpkin, that's what I am. I'd wager that's how Zelda looks at me, too._

The Old Ways valued silence. It was a mark of dignity and wisdom. The Vor Shahal had embodied that point well; no wonder Link had enjoyed their company so much. Well. Before they'd wanted him dead, of course.

Link kept his eyes fixed on the horizon where Hyrule Castle stood in the distance. Why couldn't he find the words he needed to bewitch Zelda's heart? They didn't even have any shared experiences that they could discuss, either: their recent ones were too tainted with sadness, their earlier memories were starting to fade even now. All that remained were vague feelings.

The sun, bloated and red, was beginning to sink now, and the sky took on a deep scarlet sheen. Link's mind worked incessantly. If he couldn't find words, then why not an action instead? He stopped short so quickly that the princess almost bounded into him. Her eyebrow arched quizzically.

Link smiled. "There's something you need to see. To know."

Her bemusement didn't abate.

Link cleared his throat. It was situations like this that he just couldn't keep under his control. "Look," he said. "Listen."

Amusement danced on Zelda's face. "Which is it, Link? Look or listen."

_Bumpkin! I always say the wrong thing._

He steadied himself, then smiled again. "Both."

…

Link's open palm struck her stomach. She stumbled.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You're not doing it right."

Zelda narrowed her eyes. They'd been at this for a good two hours now. Twilight was slowly spilling into the sky, studded with so many stars that they didn't even need a torch to see. Silver light began to trace the outline of the myriad hills that spread out all around them in every direction.

She focused. Her breathing remained deep and rhythmic. "Tell me again."

"Tell yourself you're dead," the Hero said, circling her slowly. Grass swayed around their ankles, tugged by a gentle breeze. "You _are_ dead, princess. You just haven't convinced the whole of your mind yet."

His hand snaked out. Again, his palm slapped into her stomach. Again, she stumbled back.

Link's eyes seemed to shine despite the fading light. "Do you feel dead yet?"

She glared at him, cheek twitching. "Again."

_Slap._

Same result.

Zelda steadied her breathing. "Again."

"Dead, princess. Feel dead yet?"

_Slap._

Same result.

Frustration began to boil in her phantom heart, barbed doubts hooking into her mind. The Chosen One failing yet again. Zelda bit down on her lower lip, and again focused on her breathing. She closed her eyes – then abruptly paused.

_Breathing? What breathing? I don't need to breathe. _ The realisation erupted within her like one of those strange exploding plants that grew on Death Mountain. She flicked a mental lever in her head. Her breathing stopped. Zelda opened her eyes. "Again."

Link twirled around theatrically, arm swinging, then thrust his palm straight at her midsection.

It passed straight through.

Zelda's jaw dropped as she gazed down. Her head flicked up, the broad grin on Link's face mirroring her own.

"Ha _haaa!_" she cried. "I did it!" She had to stop herself from doing a little jig on the spot. "Again!"

With a little more force now, Link's sprung at her. His hand slid through her chest. Zelda's grin widened so much it would've hurt.

Had she been alive, that is.

"I'm a ghost!" she giggled. "Again!"

Link laughed. Air _swooshed _as his hand, again backed by extra force, met with the same result.

Zelda, smiling, eyed the Hero carefully as he backed off. _Hero. _That was right. Who else would take the time to teach her skills that she so desperately needed to know? Certainly not the noblemen back in her old life. They'd consider such an act beneath them. And why would a woman need to know, anyway? If not for Impa and her father, Zelda would have had nothing to her name except the ability to mope and whine when things didn't go her way, a nobleman's pretty bauble, used for nothing more than to be the brunt of his frustrations or the object of his lust.

_Hero. _She remembered his last moments alive, battling impossibly through a horde of Skellow's mercenaries just so he could reach her. _Her._ Zelda felt her heart skip.

Link seemed to be in high spirits now, happy to have passed on his newfound knowledge. It gladdened her heart to see him so. How long had it been since the two of them had laughed like this together?

A sudden mischievous tingle ran down the entire length of Zelda's body. It made her feel bold. Unprincessless like thoughts began to form in her mind. Watching Link carefully for a moment, she said, soft and quiet, "Again."

"I think you've mastered it now."

Zelda shook her head. "No. I need more practice. Just once more, Link. Please."

Link eyed her curiously, then shrugged. Inwardly, Zelda cried victory. The Hero circled her, his eyes searching, then jabbed his palm forward. At the very last moment, with another flick of a mental lever, Zelda made herself go solid again.

The Hero tumbled into her and they both collapsed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Link glanced up, eyes wide. His face hung a few inches from her own. Zelda lay there, gazing up.

"Feel alive yet?" she said.

"Um," he replied. He was about to pull away when Zelda clutched the lapels of his coat and – gently, softly – brought his lips to hers.

…

They sat side-by-side, looking up at the stars. A comet shot through the heavens, its glowing plume sprinkling light in its wake. Zelda pursed her lips in pensive thought. Death was a strange thing indeed. Her heart felt warm, nestling in the glow of the kiss, but her body was cold, dead. There was no passion there. They weren't capable of it anymore.

Love alone would have to do.

_And how long have I felt this? Why wasn't I wise enough to see?_

Link slid his hand into her palm, their fingers intertwining. "Let's go," he said.

Zelda blinked. "Go? Go where?" She slid a lock of her golden hair behind one ear. "Whatever do you mean, Link?"

"Far away," he replied, fingers flexing with nervous energy. "Just you and me. We'll find somewhere."

Zelda felt her phantom heart skip a beat. She searched his face. The earnest sheen to his eyes opened up within her a sudden chasm of yearning. Tempting. It was so tempting…

The knife of cold reality sliced through the adolescent dream.

"The Sorrow," she said. "What about the Sorrow?"

He turned his face away. "I have _you_ now," he said. "Forever." Starlight dappled his cheek. "If the Sorrow leaves us alone, I'll leave it alone."

Zelda felt her soul turn to ice. Vor Primum's words whispered in her head: _If a spirit stays conscious too long in the Shadowspace it can begin to lose its way. It needs an anchor. An emotional anchor. Something – or someone – strong-willed. Someone important to the Valiarch. We chose one for Link. We chose you, Princess Zelda. You are the Chosen One._

Zelda pulled her hand away from Link's. "No," she said. Her throat tightened as she struggled with the words. She wanted _so_ much to just heed the Hero's words and flee. "We're here to fight the Sorrow, Link. You have to remember that."

The briefest flicker of irritation showed on the Hero's face. Then, after a moment, he sighed and gave her a short nod. "You are, of course, right," he said. "You always are."

Zelda didn't reply. She didn't really appreciate the flattery. Instead, she peered into the distance. The starlight wasn't strong enough to show her the far away spectre of Hyrule Castle anymore. She knew it was there, though. Another day's trek, maybe two.

"What else can we do, then?" she asked suddenly. "As spirits, I mean. Can we not just magically transport ourselves to the castle?"

"Um, I don't know," Link replied, rubbing his chin. "I don't know what our limits are. Or how we could access any new abilities we may possess."

"Or if we could access them, we may find the way blocked."

"Right," he replied. "You have to remember, princess, that the Sorrow still rules here."

She nodded, then lapsed into silence, her inward musings her only companion. The stars swirled overhead, the breeze blew with a gentle touch. It wasn't long before Link started to feel left out.

"What are you thinking?"

"No," she mumbled. "I mean, nothing. Nothing at all."

He fell silent. Zelda knew it wouldn't last.

"Tell me," he insisted. "We can tell each other things now, right?"

Zelda wouldn't look at him. She felt darkness lap against the shore of her heart, a sorrow that had its roots in her most morose of thoughts. "It's just," she said, shakily at first, then with more conviction. "It's just…if we win –"

"When we win."

"_When_ we win." She shifted on the dry grass. "When we win, everyone alive will just…keep on living. They won't even know what we went through. What we had to endure. They'll forget about us. Father. He'll forget about me."

"I doubt that, princess."

Zelda glanced at Link, saw him smile. She smiled back, though without much enthusiasm. "Is this what it means to be a hero?" she said. "Everyone else safe and snug, while the heroes die, unheralded and unremembered?"

His answer was quick and short. "Yes."

She hoped he would elaborate. He didn't. She smiled again now, and a genuine one at that. "I think I know your motto, Link."

"Oh?" he replied. "What? Something, um, about heroes and a hard life?"

"No," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. "It's: why use ten words when one will do?"

When Zelda saw the stricken look on his face, she couldn't help but burst into a fit of quite unladylike giggles. It was only a few moments of sullen silence before Link joined her in her laughter.

…

The sun blazed overhead. They stood at the mouth of a dark cave, itself sitting at the foot of one unremarkable looking hill. Zelda hadn't been able to ignore it. Somehow she'd had to take a look. Now here they both were, staring at the curtain of thin green vines that barred their way.

"Let me go instead, princess." Link's fingers had the hilt of the Master Sword gripped tight. "Please."

"No," she replied, her voice soft but firm. "I have to do this. I don't know why. I have a feeling there's something…something inside…"

"All the more reason why I should go."

Zelda favoured him with a sharp glance. "You don't think I can protect myself, Link?" she asked, pulling her bow free. "I'm more than capable."

"I know you are."

"Then…?"

Link's eyes locked with hers in a moment that seemed to stretch and stretch. Finally, he relented, bowing his head. "As you command, Sitti."

A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "Sitti?"

"It means 'my lady,'" he explained. "From olden times. From the Old Ways."

"And am I, Link?"

He blinked, confused. "Are you what?"

Zelda's voice dropped. "Your lady."

Understanding dawned on his face. "If not you, then who?" he said. "But surely you know that now."

She shrugged a shoulder and flashed him a wicked smile. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

Her own laughter chased her in as she stepped through the draped vines. As she walked deeper into the cave, Zelda knew that Link was probably crouching at the entrance, tensed and ready for even the slightest hint that she was in danger. Despite her words, she felt comforted by the thought.

She had to watch her step. The uneven rocky floor was slick and damp and one wrong move could result in a twisted ankle or even worse. Water dripped unseen with a hollow, metallic echo. Cool air washed over her face. Zelda peered into the darkness – was it her or was the gloom lightening somewhat, just up ahead?

Her free hand clung to the wall to help keep her balance as she moved at a slow pace. Moss, lichen and dirt gave under her probing fingers. With nothing for her eyes to focus on, her mind started to drift.

Impa. Zelda hadn't thought about her nursemaid for such a long time. She felt a twinge of guilt. It was like she had betrayed her old friend's memory. Was the Sheikah woman here in the Shadowspace somewhere? How could she, Zelda, find her?

She had no one left now. No one except Link. Her heart fluttered at the thought, and she berated herself inwardly for her flighty girlishness. Only for a moment, though. He had her Hero back – why shouldn't she indulge herself now? And it was clear that his regard for her was as strong as hers was for him. But, then, like Saria had said, it had always been so obvious.

Zelda blinked. There _was _a break in the darkness. A faint light flickered from around a corner up ahead. Zelda swallowed, trepidation tingling within. There was something _wrong _here in this cave. She didn't know why she thought this, but she knew, with cast-iron certainty, that there was something definitely askew.

As she turned the bend and entered a new chamber, Zelda saw all those fears quickly realised.

Tiny fairies hung from the walls, their shrivelled arms manacled tight. Blood smeared every inch of the cavern. In the centre of the room, giving off pale lavender light, was a heaped pile of fairy wings. Zelda felt her phantom heart return, felt it thud so hard that it set her head spinning.

The wings had been pulled from the fairies. Eyeing the tiny women, she could see the bloodied pair of stumps that adorned each one. Zelda's breathing returned now, quick and shallow, driven by panic and horror. The fairies had died in the process, that was clear now, but what was this? Something the Sorrow had done, or a likeness of something it had seen in the living world? Why hadn't the Sorrow taken them?

_It's a message. The Sorrow wants me to see this. Wants to unsettle me._

Zelda gazed around slowly, her eyes tracing every slack, lifeless face. She paused on one. Her heart tightened. A sudden fit of trembling overtook her.

_Oh, no…oh, please, no. I know her. __**Link **__knows her._

Zelda's arm felt like lead as she lifted a stiff hand to the tiny body. "Navi…?"

It was too much.

Zelda turned and fled, stumbling out of the chamber and almost twisting her ankle as she made for the exit. She barged past a bewildered Link, then took in a whole lungful of sweet, sweet air. Zelda felt the warmth of the sun kiss the back of her neck, and felt strangely comforted.

"What was it?" Link rounded on her, boots crushing grass, his face a picture of concern and panic. "What did you see?" He turned to the cave.

"No!" Zelda cried, throwing up a hand. "Don't go in there."

Uncertainty danced on his face. "Why?" he said. She saw his adam's apple bob up and down. "What's in there?"

"Nothing for you, Link," she replied. "Trust me. Please."

He held her gaze for a heartbeat. "I have to see." He turned again, pushing aside the vines.

Zelda's azure eyes flashed. "I am _Princess_ Zelda and I order you, as a subject of Hyrule, to not enter that cave!"

Link hesitated a moment more. Zelda's grip tightened on her bow. Glowing flecks began to form on the string. She'd make the opening collapse. Her light arrows could do it. She knew they could. He wouldn't be able to get in. Link looked from Zelda to the cave, then back to the princess again. His shoulders visibly relaxed. He let the curtain of vines drop from his hand. "As you command, Your Highness."

Zelda let a long, slow breath seep from her lips. She held out her hand. "Come on, Link," she said softly. "Take me away from here."

…

They lay face down on the tip of a hill, peering down into a small, dark valley below. Hyrule Castle loomed in front of them, speckled by moonlight, lanterns glowing from the windows. In between the hill and the castle, a vast army camped, a sea of tents, men and flickering cook fires.

"Do you see?" Link whispered. "Isn't that strange?"

"I see it," Zelda replied, squinting. "An army of Gerudo and Hylians."

"An army of the dead, more likely," said Link. "These are probably fallen soldiers from the living world."

They watched without further conversation. Whatever this place, it wasn't really Hyrule. Certainly, the castle up ahead was a good likeness of Zelda's ancestral home, but where was Castleton? Where were all the familiar landmarks? It was as strange and alien as it was familiar.

But they were here now. Determination rose like the tide in Zelda's heart. She leaned in close to the Hero.

"How do we get to the castle then?"

Link smiled. "Simple, Sitti," he replied. "We'll ghost through. They won't be able to touch us."

Zelda swallowed, her eyes fixed on the replica of her old home. "And inside we'll find the Sorrow."

"No."

Zelda blinked, startled. "No?"

She turned to him, then started suddenly. How had she missed this?

There was a feverish tint to Link's eyes, and it wasn't just the firelight glinting off of them – it was a madness, a sudden one. Zelda felt something curl in the pit of her cold stomach.

"No," he insisted. "We've done enough." He clutched her wrist. Zelda winced from the pain. "Let's go, Sitti. Please. What does it matter if the Sorrow wins? We all die. We all come to the Shadowspace. Let's take a corner of it for our own. Just you and me."

This time the princess felt no yearning, no lingering touch of temptation. She was losing him. The Shadowspace was affecting him hard. How else could he have forgotten the fact that if they lost, the Sorrow would swallow all life whole?

Zelda forced moisture into her parched mouth. _Wisdom. Come to me now._

"Let's…let's sleep on it, shall we, Link?" She trembled slightly. She hoped he couldn't detect her deception. "In the morning we'll decide."

"Sleep?"

"Yes." A sudden idea unfurled in her mind. She _pushed_ with her spirit mind. "Sleep."

"Yes…" Link replied, suddenly drowsy. "Sleep…"

Zelda felt her chest tighten. She sat up. _It's working. By all that's holy, it's working. _

Link unsheathed the Master Sword, then laid it flat on the ground. He sniffed, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his frock-coat. He curled up, there and then, and, within moments, fell fast asleep, snoring softly.

Princess Zelda sat there for a very long, just watching him, studying the contours of his face, watching the unnecessary rise and fall of his chest. Moonlight silvered his hair. Briefly, she turned to look out over the army, then turned back again.

_I am the Chosen One._

She stood.

"I'm sorry."

…

Link felt the warmth of the sun touch his cheek. His eyes opened, and he dragged himself upright, smacking his lips. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. What had happened? He'd fallen asleep? Why would he do that? Who needed it when you were dead?

He blinked the last vestiges of sleep away from his eyes, then stretched his arms. "Princess, what happened?" he said. "We have to –"

Link snapped alert. He spun around, frock-coat twirling. The princess wasn't there.

Cold fear surged through his phantom heart. He swiped the Master Sword up from the grass, then scrambled to the very peak of the hill and gazed down.

The army had gone.

An arrow jutted out from the slope below him. Papyrus hung from the feathered tail, fluttering in the breeze. Legs heavy, Link strode down to the arrow as though walking in a dream. He pulled the scroll free, then let it unfurl.

It read:

'_The woman has surrendered herself to us. If you want her, come to the castle and face our Master. He awaits, and is expecting you eagerly.'_

Link's hand curled into a fist, crushing the papyrus whole. Surrendered? Why? Why had Zelda done that?

_And now the Sorrow has her captive._

He felt his phantom heart spike painfully in his heart. Burning rage warred with icy fear in his soul. The remnants of an old memory trickled into his mind: _Don't get angry_.

He dismissed it.

Clutching the Master Sword hard, Link ran down the slope, his boots thudding against the earth.

Link slid to a halt before the moat. He looked around. Water sloshed gently below. There had to be a way for him to get in. There simply _had_ to be.

A sudden motion caught his eye. He looked up. Something small spun from a castle window, flying out in a graceful arc before hitting the ground behind him with a crack. Link whirled around.

It was Zelda's bow. Snapped in two.

Link turned back, his free hand flexing uselessly. "I'm here!" he called, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. "Come out and face me!"

An answer came in an instant. He heard the sharp echo of steel bolts sliding open up ahead. The castle's great oaken drawbridge juddered, creaking, then began to slowly open with a metallic rattle. Dust and detritus billowed outward as the bridge came to a rest.

A figure awaited him in the opening. A familiar figure, in a forest green tunic and a Kokiri hat. Link stared directly at a likeness of his own self.

Shadowy light streamed away from the newcomer's eyes like ink. The man that looked like Link smiled. He slowly raised a hand, and, with equally laboured pace, extended a finger. He struck at the air three times.

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

"**I am the Sorrow,**" it said in a voice consisting of a million slithering whispers. "**And this is your journey's end. Succeed, and you will free all the spirits from the Shadowspace. You will, too, have your woman back." **Sorrow Link licked his lips. "**Fail, and the universe- every universe- and each and every living thing therein will become mine.**" He let his words hang for a heartbeat. Liquid black eyes met Link's. "**Now. Shall we begin?"**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Darkness blotted out the sun. The wind howled its fury, whipping the stone façade of Hyrule Castle in rage. A knot of grey clouds swirled overhead and, just below, stood Sorrow Link in the eye of the storm, impassive as a block of glacial ice. Weaponless and alone, the Sorrow did not seem in the least bit perturbed.

The Hero of Time grit his teeth. His billowing coat was as dark as the storm clouds above. Buffeted this way and that, he only had one goal in mind: Princess Zelda.

_Woe betide any who stand in my way._

The castle's wooden drawbridge shook as Link thundered across. The Sorrow watched, motionless, then made a sharp gesture with his hand. A ribbon of shadow coiled around him, shrouding Sorrow Link whole. When nothing remained except a shimmering inky cocoon, it collapsed in on itself, leaving behind only a cloud of sparkling black dust. The Sorrow had vanished.

Link had no time to even register the fact. With the wind still shrieking in his ears, he watched with widened eyes as the Sorrow's Gerudo-Hylian army spilled out of the castle. Snarling faces with bloodshot eyes bore down on the Hero. Weaponry and armour clinked in metallic harmony.

The tide of men swept the Hero away instantly, fists and blades cracking and slicing his skin. Panic swallowed his mind – he would drown here, bones shattered and flesh skewered. A memory, bright as the noonday sun, stung his inner eye. He recalled his last stand, remembered Skellow's mercenary army. He'd defeated them, yes, but only so by the briefest margin of victory. It had left his battered and blood-ridden body easy prey.

_No!_

Determination surged through his phantom veins like cold, liquid mercury. He wasn't going to fail the princess again. He simply _wasn't._

Link turned inward, unhooking his mind from its familiar patterns, the unconscious habits of the living. Instantly his body shimmered, turning transparent as his spirit shone through. Swords and fists flew through him harmlessly. The Master Sword still held its weight, though. Grounding his heel into the drawbridge below, he set himself into a spin, the Master Sword curving with him, trailing light. An arc of severed heads flew from the fray. Link ploughed through the throng, completely untouchable, thrusting, stabbing, sending the soldiers back to their hated master.

A film of black goop hung from his blade after all was done. Link stood in the castle's empty inner hallway, a huge chamber lined with stained-glass windows and held firm by a row of intricately carved marble pillars. Governed by an unseen hand, the drawbridge behind him slowly made its trundling way upward, shutting out the wind and faint light. Link paid it no heed. He couldn't. The sound that sliced the air just then cut his heart in two.

Somewhere in the castle, Princess Zelda was screaming. Shrieks and sobs, begging and pleading, all bubbling over with terror and pain. Link felt his chest contract so much he thought it would burst. Tears, amazingly, came to his eyes.

"No," he breathed. "Please."

A heavy weight fell upon his soul.

Disappointment.

Everything in his life had been a miserable disappointment.

Would this end the same way, too? Just when he thought he'd found a home in her heart, would the princess be taken away from him as well?

The air in the castle suddenly turned crimson, bathing the walls in a blood-soaked hue. Stone chips shot up from the floor as huge cracks yawned open therein. Jets of steam plumed out of the new openings. Link looked around in bewildered panic. A sudden mournful howl reverberated all around him, animalistic in origin.

Silence followed for a heartbeat. Link found his eyes drawn to the wide cracks in the floor. Something dark stirred within. A low growl followed. Link's eyes narrowed, his grip on the Master Sword firm.

A pair of wolfos somersaulted out of the opening, saliva streaming from their respective maws. One landed just in front of the Hero. It threw back its head, howling, then slashed at Link's chest with a snarl.

The Hero of Time staggered back, pain exploding just above his breastbone, shock stinging his mind.

_How…?_

A deep throaty chuckle echoed around the chamber. The Sorrow spoke: "**Do you not know, Storm Star? The only place I could harm you was here, in this place, this castle, that is wholly mine. Spirit or flesh, it does not matter – I can still make you **_**hurt.**_**"**

The words rumbled heavily in the air, framed in a chorus of Princess Zelda's screams. Link's heart lurched at the sound.

The two wolfos bared their teeth, sharp and yellow, as they rounded on the Hero. Their tongues hung out from under the crazed glow of their large eyes. Link brandished his sword, waving it wildly from side to side in warning. He'd fought these beasts before, long, long ago. What had Navi told him about their weakness? If only he'd listened when she'd said!

One wolfos took a step forward. Its snout twitched as it snorted. Link began to back away. Somehow, instinctively, he knew that was exactly what he had to do. He felt a muscle pinch in his cheek as he eyed the wolfos flexing his claws. Its fellow hung back, as though intrigued by the idea that the meat wanted to play. With another howl the first beast leapt at him, desperate to rake his flesh again.

Link whirled aside, letting the wolfos dive straight past. He watched the snarling creature pass – and then the realisation hit him. _The tail! Navi said to hit the tail!_

Link vaulted ahead, Master Sword outstretched, and pierced the beast straight in the tail. It howled one last time, then exploded in a cloud of purple smoke. Its fellow dived in wildly, swinging its claws. Link ducked, and set his blade sliding across the floor. He rolled under another attack, then sprung upright just behind the wolfos. He caught the Master Sword up from the ground and stabbed it home.

Link turned away from the dissipating violet smoke just in time to see the far wall begin to tremble. He swallowed, wiping his brow. Somehow the Sorrow was allowing him to suffer the physical discomforts of the living. He was tiring now, his muscles aching – just like he'd been when he'd battled through Skellow's horde. Fatigue weighed down upon his sweat-stinging eyes. Dark blood dripped from the wound in his chest, splattering onto the ground below.

A low moan ghosted through the scarlet-drenched chamber. Zelda's screams suddenly increased in pitch. Link, teeth bared, found himself instantly galvanised.

He watched, and waited. Chunks of masonry began to drizzle down from the shuddering wall ahead.

Link stood his ground, jaw set and sword at the ready. Another violent tremor rumbled, then the wall collapsed. His eye twitched as the dust settled. His lips formed a tight, thin line. Somehow he just wasn't surprised at the new figure that blocked his way.

Floating in the air before him with huge cape billowing hung the King of Thieves himself. Black Sorrow-light streamed from Ganondorf's eyes. Link still remained impassive. This ghost wasn't the real thing. It was merely the Sorrow's puppet.

A shockwave of magical energy erupted outward from the Gerudo in shimmering concentric circles of obsidian light. Link flew off his feet from the impact, hung in the air for an instant, then crashed face-first into the hard, stone ground.

Head spinning, the Hero of Time dragged himself to his feet. He spat a wad of blood from his mouth. A tooth quickly followed. Link raised his eyes to meet the puppet's.

_He may not be the real thing, but he's just as dangerous._

Dark light began to swirl above the Gerudo's head. Link recognised the action instantly. Soon the light would form an orb and with it, Ganondorf would have a weapon. Link wasn't about to let it get that far.

With the King of Thieves set firmly in his sights, the Hero of Time ran. Jagged streams of lightning began to thread their way into the slowly forming sphere hovering above. Still running, Link drew back his sword arm, snarled, then hurled the Master Sword spinning into the air. It collided into the orb, splitting the magic apart in a shower of dark sparks.

Link somersaulted, caught the blade as it tumbled down, then landed in a crouch behind the Gerudo. The Hero's long black frock-coat streamed behind him as he leapt forward and drove the Blade of Evil's Bane into the back of the phantom Ganondorf's neck. The King of Thieves stiffened instantly. Then, slowly, his body began to sag, as though all the air was rushing out of his wound. He collapsed into a swirling cloud of pure darkness.

Still Link had no moment to pause. A low, grinding rumble echoed from behind him. He was exhausted now, his muscles stretched and sore, his skin slicked with grimy sweat. With weary deliberation he turned around.

Sorrow Link stood there, face blank. Above, hanging from the ceiling in a golden cage, was the screaming Princess Zelda.

Link's heart tightened. He took a step forward, eyes wide, and gazed up through the shimmering scarlet-dyed air.

Zelda stood frozen in the cage, her body rigid and stiff. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She was clad in her familiar royal dress, pale pink and white, though the fabric was now streaked with blood. Muscles in her face spasmed and her mouth stretched opened in a rictus of pain as unseen torturers worked on her body. She hadn't even noticed Link. She probably had no awareness of anything other than the pain.

Link had seen enough. The Master Sword cut the air once before he drove it in toward the Sorrow. It never hit home. Sorrow Link neatly sidestepped the attack, then cracked the Hero's face with a fist. He followed through with a knee to Link's chest wound. The Hero of Time doubled over, Zelda's shrieks ringing in his ears.

"**You know why you lose, don't you?"** the Sorrow whispered. He began to rain blows down on Link's head. The Hero couldn't focus, couldn't understand why he was unable to lift his blade. **"You lose because deep down you know the truth. The truth that, not only are you an outcast, but you fully deserve to **_**be**_** one, too."**

The words burrowed down into Link's deepest soul, pulling aside all of his defences, reminding him suddenly of all the times people had shunned him because he hadn't ever been able to make himself understood, hadn't ever been able to make others see. Kicked, spat on – even when he'd done the right thing, people had taken it wrong.

An image of a girl formed in his mind. He recognised her. Mya. The girl he'd saved from the bullies while he'd worked as a Scrollcopier, trying to raise the money he had Vela had needed.

_Mya. Remember the hate in Mya's eyes._

And despite that memory, there was more. The insults and the rejection wasn't the worst of it, no. What really galled him was his own self.

"**Yes," **said the Sorrow, splitting Link's cheek with another punch. The Master Sword clattered to the ground. Link was on his knees now. "**Yes. How stupid you are. Stupid to have that pathetic thing called **_**hope**_** in your heart. Hope that things would turn out different. That the next time, people would accept you. Respect you. **_**Love**_** you. They never did, did they? It was all so…**_**disappointing**_**."**

Link's face swelled with every punch to the face. He reeled – and it wasn't just from the physical blows. The Sorrow's words had a ring of truth to them. The pain of it shocked him. So much so that the next tears that came to his eyes were not for the princess – but for himself. He couldn't even hear Zelda's cries anymore.

"**That's right." **The Sorrow gave Link a shove. He toppled over easily. Kicks came next, cracking ribs and sending air flying from his lungs. "**You don't need to worry about her anymore. Just think of yourself. You. Poor, misunderstood outcast."**

Link's eyelids had ballooned so much that he could hardly see. He clawed forward with his arms, sliding across the floor as his breath wheezed out of his lips. The Sorrow brought a boot down on the back of his knee. Link's spine arched as he cried out in pain.

His eyes met Zelda's in the cage. She was gasping for breath, but somehow her face had a touch of colour to it - she'd managed to gain a little of herself again. Her eyes focused momentarily. Blood seeping into them made her blink. Her bruised, trembling lips opened.

"H-Help…me."

"Princess."

Link's left hand curled around something cold and metallic. He glanced down.

The Master Sword.

With a gargled yell, he swung up from the floor, setting the blade hurtling into a circular arc. Sorrow Link roared as the Master Sword cut through his face, sending black liquid spraying into the air. The creature snarled, then pounced, fist flying.

Link's arm flew up, blocking the punch. He flung his head forward, cracking the Sorrow's brow. Bone shattered and the Sorrow staggered back. An uppercut sent the Sorrow Link further back; a second sent him reeling. The dark creature stumbled for a moment, looked up, his face curling into a mask of pure hatred, then leapt at the Hero.

Link let the Master Sword drop as he caught the Sorrow by the wrists. His heart sped. Zelda's screaming began to undulate, warping from any semblance of anything human and morphing into a guttural, never-ending wail. Link, bloodied teeth bared yet again, pushed hard against the Sorrow, tightening his grip so much that he heard the other's wrists snap.

Sorrow Link howled in incomprehensible pain. The Hero of Time forced the creature to his knees. Link couldn't stop the tears flowing now. Zelda's screech had reached a single heart-rending note that went on and on and…

Link looked down. The Sorrow raised his head.

Link gazed into the eyes of the Sorrow, and saw the depths within. He couldn't let go, as though, somehow, he had plunged into the soul of darkness itself. The world faded from Link's awareness.

Desolation overwhelmed him. The Sorrow was so empty, so cold, hollow and so very, very hungry. It was searching, longing for something it couldn't quite name.

And, suddenly, Link saw himself. Not just in the physical form that the Sorrow had adopted, but in his own being. He saw himself, saw how he nursed old hurts, how his ambitions of nobility hadn't prevented him from seeing the bad in everything around him, how even the vision he'd seen of the universe in its reflected beauty hadn't really convinced him, despite his words, of how the world was still just disappointment, sadness and pain.

Link saw himself, and knew exactly what he had to do.

The Storm Star focused. He recalled everything that he'd ever known about love (_Zelda's gentle touch), _about friendship (_Saria's smiling face)_, about goodness, righteousness and nobility (_fighting the good fight, tempered by compassion, driven by selflessness – the Old Ways; the true path of the Vor Shahal)_.

The Storm Star shone, growing ever brighter and brighter. He recalled all of this in sharp, crystal clarity, and honed in on it all until nothing remained except those memories. Then he _pushed _with the entirety of his being, and poured it all into the emptiness that was the Sorrow.

Light flooded the world. All sound ceased. Time and space folded in on itself. A deep longing stood satisfied, a tempest finally calm and content. The Shadowspace dissolved, taking everyone and everything within it.

All that remained was light.

…

Princess Zelda awoke in a sea of green mist. It seemed to stretch away in all directions, enshrouding the whole world. Her eyes could see nothing else. She smiled. The mist curled delightful patterns for her, winding and weaving in front of her very eyes.

She felt like dancing. Seeing no reason why she shouldn't, she started skipping as she walked, a delightful little jaunt that made her heart sing. And why shouldn't it sing? There was no reason for it not to. She tried to probe her memories, but found little there. It mattered not. This is the way life always had been. This is the way it always would be.

Honey-cool bliss, serene and sweet, tingled her from tip to toe, satisfying her so completely that she thought she might float. After a moment, she realised she _was _floating, swimming through the emerald sky. This made her laugh. Laughing was good.

She wasn't the only one in the air. A tiny fairy woman floated past, wings a-blur, and waved cheerily. "Hey," the fairy said, grinning. "Listen!"

Zelda thought that she may have recognised the little winged woman. She wondered what she was supposed to listen to, but when the fairy simply hovered away without elaboration she dismissed it.

As Zelda flew she began to spy tall spires in the distance. She frowned, her brow creasing. There was something she couldn't quite grasp about the shapes up ahead, as though her mind had no frame of reference with which it could help her comprehend.

What she _did_ understand was the man waiting there in the air, arms outstretched and grinning wildly. A memory resurfaced. Zelda grinned in return, love surging in her heart.

"Link!"

He laughed as she floated into his arms. They spun around and around and around, content to be in the other's presence. How long they stayed like that Zelda couldn't tell – maybe it was an hour; maybe a century, or maybe even more. It didn't matter, anyway.

The buildings she spied earlier – or so long ago – seemed to resolve into a word in her head: palaces. But they were unlike any palaces she'd ever seen before. She heard voices there: happy laughter, delightful to the ear. She recognised some of the voices.

_Ben. Malon._

"Yes," said Link. "They made it. They made it on their own. Remember you said you saw Malon and Tayer disappear in a green light? That was them. Ben did it somehow. Appears he has – had - a knack for such things."

She didn't remember, but she was eager to see Malon and Ben again, and meet this Tayer. Sal, too, though she couldn't quite recall why that name was so familiar to her. A dam seemed to break in her mind and other names poured through: _ Impa. Saria. Nabooru._

"Who else is here?" she asked.

"Come and see," Link replied, his smiling voice gentle.

He made to move away, but she caught his hand. "Link," she said. "Is this the end?"

Link pulled her close to him, his touch tender. He pushed a lock of her hair from her brow. His eyes gazed into hers. Zelda's own eyes closed as he leaned in toward her. The kiss was just as sweet as everything else in this emerald and jade world.

"No," he replied, taking her by the hand and leading her away. "It's just the beginning."

And then, finally, the Hero of Time – the Storm Star – and the Chosen Princess of Hyrule died happily ever after.

_Finis._

**A/N: ** A big thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially my regular reviewers (seriously, it amazes me that you always find something new to say!).

Well, hmm…this story was a bit different, no? I like the fandom, the genre and the characters, but it's always a bit of a challenge to keep new stories fresh. I hope I succeeded.

I do have some ideas for another LoZ story (an AU one)._** If**_ they do come to fruition, it'll probably start sometime in the New Year.

Oh, yes. It's good form to put in a disclaimer, isn't it? (Not that it'd ever stop the mighty corporations suing you out of house, home and hamster cage if they wanted to). Here goes:

"Everything belongs to me, except those parts that don't, such as the Legend of Zelda and the Super Mario Bros., which both belong to Nintendo; and also Final Fantasy VII which belongs to Square Enix."

(See? I could never have put that at the beginning without ruining everything).

Thanks again for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)

Split


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